The Powerful Play Goes On: Part II
by Frankincense Pontipee
Summary: Somewhere between the cake, the crime drama, the books, the post-its, the mortal enemies and the hot boys, a whispered legacy of words and ideas will change two lives forever. A modern Northanger Abbey/Sense and Sensibility crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**If you haven't read it yet, stop right now, and go and read 'The Powerful Play Goes On'. It's on my profile page. Or you can Sherlock your way to it via the Sense and Sensibility board. I'll be waiting here when you come back. Then all will make much more sense.**

_Part II: Cate_

**Chapter One**

It all started with a very innocent "Are you coming round the house?" What happened after that I entirely blame on Dr. Gil Grissom.

Harry's eyebrows were raised in question. Something, I deduced, Nick Stokes-like, was up. He had glanced at Ed, then Ellis, then finally at me, asking if I was coming round the house. I paused. Ellis had threatened me to not leave her but then, really, it just made the whole thing more suspicious. To my shame, I also immediately trusted Harry, largely because he was quite cute. Not handsome, exactly. He was too tall and gangly, and not at all classical in profile, but he smiled easily and genuinely, and I couldn't help but like that. Except those are the kind of people who, in the last five minutes of _CSI_ suddenly drop the smile and look evil and reveal that they killed their mother/father/girlfriend/neighbour. With a biro. But he was a vicar. Surely that couldn't be underestimated: he had God on his side. I took a deep breath, trying to squash the inner rambling monologue that I had going on and, glancing at Ellis who was sporting an evil expression, I said, "Uh…sure." Cool Cate. Really smooth.

He grinned. Then he fell in beside me, walking up to the house.

We were only just out of Ellis and Ed's ear-shot when my conscience got the better of me:

"I shouldn't have left her alone." It slipped out before I could stop it. I glanced back over my shoulder, and saw them shuffling awkwardly.

"I'm not sure that I should have left him either."

I glanced up at him, surprised. "He asked you not to?"

He shrugged. "Not in so many words, but…"

I winced. "She did. Her actual words were 'don't you dare leave me'."

"Oops." Harry's grin twitched back into life. "I think that officially makes you the worst friend here."

"Damn it." I stilled, suddenly remembering what Marc had said about him. "Sorry," I said.

Harry stopped walking. "You aren't apologising about saying 'damn' in front of a vicar, are you?"

I winced again. "Maybe? It seems particularly bad."

He smiled, slowly. "It's not. Ed has said much worse things in front of me, and neither have my ears withered, nor has Ed been struck by lightning."

"Good to know."

"Also, I'm a vicar in the very loosest sense of the word."

"You mean, you're not?"

"Pretty much. I'm training right now. It's not like I run a parish single handed and am off to jumble sales and tea parties every weekend."

"No?"

He grinned again. "No, that would be if I were a vicar on television."

"Oh." I paused. "You're the only vicar here though, loosest sense or not, which makes it more shameful for you to have abandoned your friend."

He smiled some more. He paused to let me in through the double doors first. I entered, then glanced back, through the glazing. They were standing closer than they had been. His head was bowed. Ellis reached out a hand to his arm, and he looked up. Harry stopped too, and looked back. He glanced at me. "We could still go back."

"They look all right, don't they?"

Ed suddenly smiled.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Come on. They went left, right?" he asked, and he led the way into the formal dining room.

* * *

><p>"Have you seen Ellis?"<p>

My semi-guilt was not helped by Brandon's murderous expression. "Uh…not in a while. Why?"

He ran a hand through his hair, impatiently pushing it out of his face. "I…uh…she wasn't…" He paused suddenly, seeming to turn things over.

"Is she all right?"

He leaned heavily on the counter. "I don't know." He stood up again. "I'll call her in a bit." He sighed. "What do you want?"

"Coffee? Maybe some cake."

He raised an eyebrow. "Just for you or for that bean-pole out there too?"

I hit him. "Shut up. I'm just showing him around."

"Because there's absolutely no one else here who could possibly do that?"

I narrowed my eyes. I thought about recalling incidents with Barbies meeting their unfortunate end under the lawn-mower, but then decided against it. After all, it did create the brilliant game 'dead-toy CSI'. "Just give me the coffee, would you?"

He smirked a little. "Fine. I might make it a decaf though. He looks chirpy enough as it is."

"Brandon…"

"No one smiles that much, naturally."

"Would you stop?"

He smirked some more. "Fine. Get the cake yourself." He pushed a cardboard take-out box at me and then turned to the delicate coffee machine, made all the more delicate by Dad's ministrations to it that morning. A few minutes later, he passed me two cups. "Have fun with your new friend."

"I'm going to kick your ass."

"You can try, Short-Round."

I carried the food out onto the deck. "I will," I called back, then nearly bumped into Harry.

"This view," he exclaimed. "It's amazing."

I handed him his coffee, then looked out across the sea. It did look beautiful, the sun sparkling on every wave-top, sea gulls wheeling. "You forget," I said, "after a while."

He grinned, took a gulp of coffee and sighed, satisfied. "So, what am I missing right now?"

"That would probably be the tour of the gardens."

"Ah." He winced

"What? Did you want to see them?"

"Kind of." He leaned against the railings, and accepted a doughnut out of the box. "My Dad wanted me to come and scout out the gardens here. He's looking into having ours remodelled or something like it."

I pursed my lips. "So a tour around the gardens with, say, the landscape architect who designed them would be ideal?"

His eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Come on," I said. "We can take our coffee with us." I fished my doughnut out of the box, and led the way back through the boat-house. "Hey, you can have this back," I said, throwing the empty box back at Brandon.

"I don't want it back…" he growled. "Catherine…"

"See you later!" I called, chirpily, and exited the building.

"Friend of yours?"

I smiled. "My oldest brother."

"Ah."

* * *

><p>He had paused by the lake, watching the grebes chasing each other, kicking up the spray behind them.<p>

"So," I began, breaking his reverie. He blinked, turned, and smiled again. "What's your garden like?"

He took a sip of his coffee. "Small, paved and cluttered with broken garden furniture."

"Huh."

He grinned. "Dad's, however, is 40 acres of lush North Devon countryside."

"Oh, he's funny! Why did no one warn me of this?"

He grinned again, starting to walk next to me. "Karl Barth said that laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Did he?" I said, my tone deliberately cautious.

His grin widened. "Yes," he said, holding laughter back only just past the surface. "Also, Hobbes said that if we couldn't laugh at things that didn't make sense then we couldn't react to a lot in life."

I frowned. "Hobbes? The philosopher?"

His look was all too innocent. "Uh…no. The tiger."

I seriously considered pushing him in the lake. Fortunately for him, good sense won out. For the moment.

* * *

><p>"Cate! There you are. Good." Cliff descended on me like a bat out of hell (he was, after all, built like Meatloaf) as soon as we stepped out of the woods and into the formal garden.<p>

"Cliff," I said, warily.

"I need you to show some people round. Brandon thought that you were already doing it anyway…?"

"Not the house?" I protested, a little too fast perhaps. "I don't know anything about the antiques or the paintings or…"

Cliff waved a hand, vaguely. "No, no. Just the grounds. Some relatives of the Dashwoods turned up a little late, and I need to take everyone else up to the boat-house. Jill's doing something, and Mari's busy at the book-shop and Ellis has disappeared…"

I gulped, guiltily.

"They're Ellis' friend Ed's family?"

"Fine," I said, resigned.

"Brilliant. I'll just go and get them, and push them your way."

He bustled off, leaving me and Harry standing on the very edge of our garden walk-through which was clearly now, not to be. "You can come along too?"

He smiled. "Thanks. I should probably go and find Ed anyway. I'll catch up with you later?"

I hoped desperately that the disappointment that he hadn't decided to stay with me and have me show off didn't show too starkly on my face. "OK," I said. He had started walking away when I called, "wait, do you know Ed's family?"

He looked over his shoulder and grinned, a little too guiltily. "Yes."

"They don't like you?"

He stopped and turned around. "It's more like I'm not such good vicar material when I'm around them," he said, hands held out in guilty admittance. He grinned again. "See you later." Then he turned and carried on walking.

* * *

><p>There are some girls who could make you painfully aware of your extra weight carried on your thighs and hips and your complete ineptitude with eye liner if they weren't so nice. Or at least, if it wasn't that they were so self-assured that they didn't need to tear down your hairmake-up/fashion/figure. I realised, upon sight, that Izzy Ferrars was one of them. She had the look of a porcelain doll with her flawless skin and massive blue eyes, not to mention masses of blonde hair. She smiled, straight away.

"Cate, right?" she said. "I'm Izzy. This is my brother, Robbie."

Robbie didn't cut quite such an impressive figure. He was of a medium height, a little heavier than Ed, and a lot more groomed. He was dressed in an Oxford shirt, jeans, slung a little too low, and deck shoes.

"Hi," he said, disinterested in tone, although he was all over me with his eyes.

I smiled, out of politeness more than anything else.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Cate Morland. I was the garden designer here at Barton."

Izzy's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened. I secretly cursed her for the fact that her surprise made her only more attractive. "The whole thing? You're one of those freaky geniuses I've heard about. What's the square root of 5,389?"

Somehow, I immediately warmed to her. "Uh…I don't know," I said. "Not a clue."

She smiled. "I doubt anyone does unless they're like that Stephen Hawkings and in a wheelchair and, you know…"

Robbie proceeded to do a massive politically incorrect impersonation of the said eminent scientist. It was, unfortunately, spot on.

I smiled. "Right," I said. "No, I'm not like him."

"But the whole place?"

We had walked through the maze of hedges and now came out onto the terrace and the parterre.

"Like, you did all this?" asked Izzy, flipping her sunglasses down off her head and surveying the garden in front of her. "Holy…"

"No," I admitted. "Not entirely."

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Izzy grinned. "Clever."

"It's a good strategy in business," said Robbie, hands shoved deep in his pockets, revealing even more of the Calvin Klein signage on his underwear. Not that I was looking exactly. "Accept the praise for everything you're given, whether you did it or not. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there Izzy."

"No," I broke in laughing, a hand out to gesture which unfortunately landed on Robbie's arm, causing him to raise his eyebrows at me suggestively. I stopped laughing and carefully removed it again. "I meant that these gardens have been here in some form or other for several hundred years. The parterre design wasn't mine originally, but in redoing it I had to make some adjustments since some Victorian lord of the manor dumped that massive fountain in the middle, irrespective of how much it would mess up the garden."

"Oh, I see," said Izzy, fishing her mobile out of her impossibly tight jeans pocket and taking a picture. She turned back to me. "I guess this place is like a beautiful woman with great bone structure, you know? The base is a great start, but it just needed some…tarting up."

I laughed. "Right," I said. "Except some bits needed more like a lift and a tuck and then an implant."

She laughed, tucking her arm through mine. "Of which I am an aficionado."

My disbelief must have shown on my face. Damn my expressive nature. I blame Mrs Hoover and my Year Seven drama class. Robbie barked in laughter. "Not in first-hand experience, yet Iz." He glanced at me, smirking. "Our mother is a little too interested in a certain surgeon on Harley Street."

"She's had a lot of work done?"

He snorted with laughter, as Izzy and I began walking again, through the parterre to the far side. "You could say that," he scoffed.

"She's a little more interested in the surgeon than his knives, if you know what I mean," said Izzy.

"Really?" At that very moment, I felt like home-spun-Annie, best friend of Peggy Patch, rabbit best friend and crack jam-making abilities in tow.

Izzy smiled, long-sufferingly. "I read a lot about plastic surgery in that waiting room when I was younger. One hell of a lot of waiting, you know?"

My jaw dropped. It didn't help to make me feel _less_ home-spun. "Wow."

"Yeah," she said, as we descended the steps from the parterre, and went on down through the lower terrace. "It wasn't all time wasted."

"Yeah?" I asked, glad that she could dredge something good out of a traumatic childhood of sitting in waiting rooms while her mother had it off with a plastic surgeon. Lovely.

"Yeah," she said. "I think that all my past boyfriends can be grateful for Cosmo-ducation."

"Wait, what?" Robbie grimaced. "Oh, that's not right, man."

I had to agree. I smiled a little at him. At last his face twitched into something resembling an actual smile and not, as it had been for the last ten minutes, a leer.

Izzy laughed. "Come on," she said, and dragged me along the path down to the rest of the gardens. "Let's see what else this freaky genius has done."

* * *

><p>The June weather had not disappointed. In fact, by the time we reached the walled garden, it was boiling.<p>

Izzy danced up to the closed wooden door in the old brick-work. "What's through here?" she asked.

"Oh, it's not quite visitor-ready yet," I said. "We were hoping for it, but we're not quite there."

"Can we have a look?" Wide-eyed with excitement, she was looking even more beautiful.

I sighed, resigned to the fact that the heat that had made her glow equally made me sweat. Yes. Attractive. "Sure, I guess," I said, and I pushed open the wooden door. Vast planes of muddy ground stretched out before us with slim paths of gravel interlacing between them. Further across the walled space there was more greenery. Tom had worked his ass off to get the vegetables and selling-plants ready, but it had been at the expense of the rest of the space. The espaliered fruit trees had been seen to, and were shaped and growing much better. The greenhouses were fit to bursting. The grass, fountains, and benches, however, were a little way off. Izzy, I noticed, had also switched focus from the apple trees and budding honeysuckle and was more interested in something else. I spied him through the trees, carving an old tree trunk into a new bench.

"Who's _that_?" she said.

It isn't exactly pleasant to have to either see your brother shirtless, or admit that he's reasonably built, but both were unfortunately on the cards. "Uh…that's my brother," I said. "He's kind of an on-site carpenter here."

"Oh hell…" muttered Robbie.

"Can we meet him?" Izzy was breathless with anticipation. "Come on, Cate. Introduce me."

I paused, wondered whether Jim might not appreciate the interruption but then remembered his deliberate usage of the last of the hot water that morning, and lost all sympathy. "OK," I said. "Come on."

He chose that exact moment to pour a bottle of water over his head, and shake the water clear of his hair, dog-like.

"Wow," murmured Izzy from behind my shoulder. I worked on not showing my nausea on my face. I'm not sure that it worked.

"Jim," I called. "This is Ellis' friend's brother and sister: Robbie and Izzy."

He still had a hand over his face, wiping the water away. "Ellis' friend's brother's dog's…?"

"Actually, she's my sister's half-sister-in-law."

Jim smiled, disbelievingly at Izzy. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Robbie. "Our connection is all bull, but it was a good excuse to get away from our parents for the day."

Jim smiled again. "Fair enough," he said and, having wiped his hand on his shirt, lying over the back of the bench, he held it out. "James Morland," he said, and shook with Robbie. He glanced at Izzy, smiled again and then almost automatically, he picked up his shirt and shrugged it on. "Lizzy, was it?"

She held out a hand, flat, as if he were to kiss it. "Izzy," she said. "Isabella."

He grasped her hand in his, his fingers curled into hers, his thumb across her knuckles. "A pleasure," he said, and smiled again. I resisted the urge to yell 'who are you and what have you done with my brother?' It was strong, but I was stronger. That, and it would have been a little embarrassing. Maybe this was what he needed all this time: an obscenely hot girl to shake him out of his funk. Not that she was exactly his type, but then what guy didn't go for skinny girls with curves, big eyes and pouting lips? To my chagrin, I couldn't think of one who wouldn't. Automatically, my mind flitted to Harry. I told it off.

"So," asked Jim, surreptitiously doing the buttons of his shirt up. "Are you enjoying Barton Park?"

"It's beautiful," cooed Izzy. "Cate's being showing us around."

He shot me a look. "Has she really?"

"Yes. We were going to the boat-house next probably." I paused and, despite the hot-water-shower conundrum, I relented. "Have you had lunch yet? You could come too if you wanted."

"You'd be welcome, man," said Robbie, graciously. He flicked me another look. I carefully didn't return it.

Jim glanced at his watch. "Oh…sure. I could do with a break." He interlaced his fingers, stretching out his arms. Then he picked up the more dangerous of the tools, locked them in the shed, and dusted off his hands on his jeans.

"So," began Robbie, eyeing the carpet of woodchips, "you're a carpenter."

They fell in step next to each other, Jim talking quietly about saws and planing, oak versus holly and sandpapers of the world. Robbie, in reply, made sounds of understanding it all, encouraging the next incomprehensible bit of carpentry wisdom out of Jim's mouth. Izzy meanwhile slipped an arm through mine again. We walked a little way behind the boys and although we talked, she was distracted.

"He's had a really hard year," I said, finally, giving up our conversation.

"Who, Joaquin Phoenix?"

I raised my eyebrows, and nodded to Jim. "No."

"Oh." She grinned, guiltily. "Was I that obvious?"

I shrugged. "He's a good looking boy. Even I can admit that."

She grinned some more. "He's more than cute, Cate."

I cringed. "OK, that's enough."

She stopped walking, and, having looked after them, probably admiring Jim's fine behind (although it made me queasy to even think it) she said, "do you think he likes me?"

I smiled. Even Izzy, aesthetically perfect Izzy, had doubts. "I don't know. As I said, he has had a really tough year. He's only just crawling out the other side of it, really."

Izzy turned to look after the boys again. "So he could do with a distraction?"

"I don't know..."

She grinned again. "You think I have a chance?"

"Look at you!" I said before I could stop it. I stopped then, and cringed. "I meant…yes. Maybe."

She grinned once more, triumphantly. "Good."

* * *

><p>"How do you feel about older men?" I asked Izzy speculatively as we waited out on the deck for the boys to bring the drinks.<p>

She shrugged. "Very good," she said. Then she grinned. "Why? You have your eye on someone?"

"No. I just thought that I'd warn you."

"Of what?"

"Hey!" said Jim, reappearing. "Look who I found to come and have his lunch with us."

Brandon, obviously hot and tired dropped into the chair that Jim had pulled up.

"Oh," said Izzy, almost reverentially. Then, catching my eye, she burst into laughter.

"She all right?" asked Brandon, wearily.

"She's fine. It's a hot day," I said shakily, feeling that laughter was imminent.

Izzy got control of herself, pushed her curtain of hair out of her face, and held out a hand to Brandon. Evidently it was only the ones that she _really_ liked who she tried the hand-kissing-routine on. "Izzy Ferrars," she said.

He shook it. "Brandon Morland." He frowned a little, his hand still gripping hers. "Ferrars?" he repeated.

"Yep," said Robbie. "And I'm Robert Ferrars," he said. "Robbie, please."

"Ferrars?" asked Brandon again.

"You got Tourette's, dude? Yeah. Ferrars. We're an old family down on this coast. Maybe you know some distant relation of ours?"

Brandon had paused. "Does Edward Ferrars ring any bells?" he asked, tightly.

"Brandon," said Jim, gently remonstrating.

"Uh…yeah. He's my brother."

"Really."

I got up. "I think it's a bit hot out here. Shall we go and find the parasols, B?" I dragged him out of his chair and, once out in the store room, pushed him onto the solitary folding chair. "What are you doing?"

He hung his head, kneading the back of his neck with one hand. "I'm sorry," he said, muffled. "I'm just…" He sat up again, leaning against the shelves, stacked with tines and boxes.

"What?"

"Ellis was crying earlier."

I sagged against the opposite shelves, guilt suddenly very heavy on my shoulders. "Ellis? She doesn't cry. Not in front of anyone anyway."

"Right," he said, wearily. "I'm guessing it was that Ferrars idiot. I don't know what he did or said or…" He paused. "I could happily punch him right now. Right in the face."

"Very Lancelot of you."

He glared at me. "It's not funny, Cate."

I sagged some more. "I know. I was the one who left her alone with him. I thought I was helping."

He gave me a long, withering look. "Not so much."

"What should I do?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Don't tell anyone for starters. It was a complete aberration that she cried in front of me."

"Yeah."

"Uh…Brandon?" Lorna stood in the doorway, wringing her hands. Clearly she hadn't yet cracked her way through Brandon's Kinder egg mentality. It first took smashing his veneer of vague, quiet niceness to find the impossibly hermetically sealed vault within. It took years of prising and jamming combined with a hefty spade-load of irritation before, finally, his inner toy was revealed, waiting to be reconstructed as a car. Or a dinosaur. Or something. Ellis had done it in record time. I suspect it had something to do with a complete lack of sexual tension between them. Lorna, however, a) feared Brandon as her boss and yet b) also clearly had the hots for him. I doubt he had even noticed.

"Yes?" he asked, wearily.

She squirmed. "I'm sorry. Could you come and look at the coffee machine?"

He grunted as he stood up. Classy, dude. "Fine," he said.

"What should I do?" I repeated as he sloped to the door.

He turned, a hand pushing his hair off his face. "I really don't know." Great. He shrugged. "Sorry," he said, "but maybe you shouldn't have meddled in the first place." He disappeared back off into the kitchen.

Helpful. Really helpful. I emerged out of the store-room, and heard Izzy, Jim and Robbie before I heard them. At that moment of writhing, crushing guilt, I didn't quite feel up to drinks and giggles. Instead, I walked out of the front door, and straight into Harry.

* * *

><p>"I'm beginning to think," he said, a hasty apology, a brief exchange of worried thoughts, a walk to the nearest bench and a few minutes of awkward silence later, "that we made a massive mistake."<p>

"Yeah."

He closed his eyes, leaning back, grimacing. "You can't find Ellis?" he asked eventually.

"No. And no Ed either?"

He shook his head. "You don't think that they're together though, do you?"

I drew my knees up. "No," I said. "She was upset, I think, sometime quite soon after we left them alone."

He shook his head again, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, palms pressed against his eye sockets. "I feel like such a crap friend."

I raised my eyes at his language. Yet again, I felt like little home-spun Annie, and stopped myself from appearing to be the biggest prude in the world, second only to Beth March.

"What happened with her?" he asked, turning to look at me, face drawn.

I shrugged. "I can't say," I said. "Brandon made me promise."

He nodded, slowly.

"You know what's going on between them?"

He turned back to me, and nodded again. "Bits and pieces."

I nodded, silent. The pause lengthened awkwardly.

"I've promised as well," he said eventually. "I'm sorry. I hate keeping secrets."

"It's fine."

He gave me a long, appraising look. Then he said, "Don't beat yourself up about this."

I shrugged. "It's my fault."

He smiled, wryly. "It's _our _fault, if that helps at all."

I smiled back, automatically. "Maybe." I paused, prepping myself to ask what felt like the dumbest question ever asked. "Are you…" I swallowed. "Have you prayed about this?"

"Yes."

The speed and simplicity of his answer knocked me off my fear of embarrassment. I was now however, potentially foolishly, on a roll. "And you think it'll work?"

"Yes," he said again, sporting a small smile. "Somehow, yes."

His complete, all-encompassing faith calmed me. "OK," I said, eventually.

He leaned back again, clearly a little less upset. "How are you getting on with Ed's brother and sister?"

"All right," I said, slowly. "They're a bit…" I paused. "I like Izzy, and she certainly likes my brother."

He smiled again. "The one at the boat-house?"

"No. The other one. Jim's a carpenter. He was badly affected by the accident last year, but he's starting to come out of his shell a bit again."

Harry frowned a little. "He doesn't sound like her type."

"He was topless when we first bumped into him."

Harry grinned. "Ah."

"Yes. She…" I didn't get any further. Harry's mobile burst into life and, looking at the screen, he sagged in relief. "Ed?" he said into it, clamped firmly to his ear, standing up at the same time. "Where are you?" The reception was dodgy on the estate. He had to duck and weave to maintain the conversation. I decided that he needed privacy. I waved to signal my imminent departure and then, having caught his eye and smiled, I started to walk back to the boat-house.

"Cate?"

I turned to see him, hand over the mouth-piece, waving back.

"Yeah?"

He smiled. "Thank you."

"It's fine."

He grinned. "See you later?"

"Sure."

He grinned again, and then turned back to his phone. I, meanwhile, had a stern word with the baby rabbits playing harps at the edges of my minds. This was not to turn into anything. It couldn't. He was here for the day, then back to his father's north Devon estate, at the very nearest. It was at the very least two hours away. It wouldn't work. It couldn't. The baby rabbits amiably stopped playing their harps. The heart shaped confetti scattering, however, continued. Damn those rabbits.

* * *

><p>As the stable-yard clock mercifully ticked over to the hour and chimed, I staggered into the book-shop. Mari looked up and smiled.<p>

"Are you all right?"

I dropped into a chair. "Exhausted," I said.

"I hear you."

The old till chimed and slammed, and Mari appeared next to me. "So," I said, leaning back, regarding her through half-closed eyes, "you have plans with lover-boy tonight?"

She grinned. "Not tonight. We're too tired."

I waggled my eyebrows. "Tired of doing what, I might ask?"

She grinned again. "Work, Cate."

"Riiiiight."

She pursed her lips. "I…uh. He's taking me out on Friday night, though."

"Really? Smooth, Marc. Smooth."

She looked even more awkward. Finally, she stood up and closed the door. "I think," she began, confidentially, "that he might propose."

"What?"

She blushed. She sat down again. She folded her hands in the most naïve, modest air that she had ever exuded.

"Really?" I asked again. "Wow."

She narrowed her eyes. "You think that it's too soon?"

"I think that it's wildly romantic," I said, my not-so-secret love of dashing heroes and romantic explosions making itself known. Practicality, however, born through a combination of necessity and a year of friendship with Ellis, reared its boring head. "Have you talked to your family about it?"

She nodded. "Kind of. Ellis knows, or at least, she knows that I think that he might."

Curiosity also flared. It won out, for the moment, over the sting of guilt. "What does she think?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. She's a closed book to me."

"Me too."

She grinned. "To _everyone_. Maybe not Brandon, so much, and she _was_ close to Ed…" She sighed, shaking her head. "Anyway. Hopefully she'll sort herself out soon."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

Mari leaned forward, conspiratorially. "He's here. She's here. It's a romantic setting. They were close and then ripped apart by circumstance." She raised her eyebrows. "It's more romantic than me and Marc. I met him. I liked him. He liked me. End."

I smiled.

"Not that you can tell her that I said that."

Guilt flared further. "I'm not supposed to know about Ed?"

Mari waved a vague hand. "Anyone who had been around them would know that they have history and bizarre chemistry despite her immensely boring practicalities and his ineffably uninspired thoughts on the works of Peter Jackson." She grinned. "No. I meant that you can't tell her that she and Ed have a much more romantic shtick than me and Marc. I'd never live it down."

I frowned, a good few sentences behind. "You don't like Ed?"

She made a dismissive face. "He's lovely and sweet, and he's clearly nuts for Ellis which is always a good sign in my book, but I would die of boredom if I married him."

I laughed in reply. Slowly, we descended into exhausted silence, broken only a few minutes later by Marc, knocking on the door and letting himself in.

"Hi," he said, and grinned, as devilishly handsome as ever. I had a massive crush on Marc the first time I met him. And the second time. And pretty much every time. There had never been that many young people in Barton before the accident, but afterwards, it was pretty much a ghost town. I had all but given up on the possibility of meeting someone without the use of the internet. Thank goodness for Ellis and the train of under-forties that she brought in her wake.

"Hi," I replied, ever so cool, carefully moderating my tone so that my traitorous larynx would close on me, turning me into a high-pitched squealing girl-monster.

Mari grinned. She, unfortunately, had found out the effect that Marc had on me. It had happened the very day that she had come to the Delaford Kitchen to apologise. Ever since she had enjoyed my automatic squeak and blush routine in Marc's presence. Except this time, it wasn't so hard. Much less squeak reflex. Barely any blush. She looked positively disappointed.

"You done here?" he asked, looking down at Mari.

"Umhmmm," she said, clearly now too tired for words.

"You want to go have a drink in Barton?"

"Umhmm," she said again. "Sure."

He smiled. He looked up. "Cate? You want to come too?"

The crawling guilt made its way to my conscious. "Uh…no. Thanks. I've got to go and find Ellis. Have you seen her?"

They both shook their heads. "No. Not all day."

Mari raised her eyebrows at me, lasciviously. "Yeah," she said, grinned. "Not at all."

Marc laughed.

I, however, inwardly groaned. "All right then," I said, standing up slowly. "I'll leave you love-birds to finish tidying up here. Have a good night."

"You too," Mari called, and I made my way out into the early evening sunshine.

* * *

><p>There was no reply at the Dashwood's flat front-door. I hoped that it meant that she wasn't there and not, as I was beginning to suspect, that she was just not answering. The office door threw up equally poor results. I sighed, groaned in fact, and leaned my forehead against the door. It had only just been a year since the tragedy had ripped through her life. She was fragile and I, like the large-footed giant of bad decisions that I clearly was, had stamped all over her. After all, as Mari had said, none of us knew what she was really thinking. She was elusive. Irritatingly independent at times, and stubborn as a mule, but not strong, really. Just bullishly determined. Running out of ideas, with only trawling the entire 500 acres of the estate left, I decided to leave her a note on her desk. The door, thankfully, was open. The desk was empty. I sighed. Then I walked over and unearthed a post-it. Suddenly, a scuffle behind me sent me spinning around, wishing that I was armed with a blunderbuss. Or something, anyway, better than a biro.<p>

"Ellis!"

She smiled, weary and false, but it was a start. "Yes?"

"I…" I paused. "I was leaving you a note. I wanted to check that you were all right."

She walked past me, and sat back down in her desk-chair. "I'm fine," she said.

I mentally clocked the first of the evening's lies. "Really?"

She gave me a look.

"I just…we hadn't seen you all day and I was worried."

"We?" she questioned, writing something on the next post-it down, my hastily scribbled note already screwed up and dropped in the bin.

"Um." It occurred to me that the fact that while I knew that she had been upset, I wasn't supposed to know it, and certainly not that she had cried. Also, that her relationship with Brandon could become shaky if I implicated him in my scheme. "You know," I started boldly. "Everyone. No has seen you." Except Brandon. Except I couldn't say that either.

She gave me a long look. Finally, she broke it. "No," she said. "I had a few things to do."

I sighed. This exchange of lies was becoming indicative of my friendship with Ellis which, thus far had been interesting to say the least: loyalty, fairness and a keen sense of humour had each been paired off with a stubborn refusal to let anyone get too close, a snarling defence of her own privacy and a complete disregard for the help anyone else could give. It was like being hugged, really well, at arm's length. Infuriating, but comforting. Mari, on the other hand, after a cautious beginning and a bumpy ride in the middle, was now one of my best friends. Privacy was an alien concept. Boundaries were never evident. Nostalgia mixed with wild romanticism and severe criticism served to make her the craziest cocktail that I knew. Being friends with the Dashwood sisters was like being friends with both fire and water. It was, at times, exhausting. Not that life in my household was any easier. Maybe just more familiar, what with Jim's particular brand of weird, and Brandon's rollercoaster of drama.

"Look," I said, sitting down opposite her. "I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have left you alone."

She smiled, again, not quite reaching her eyes. "It's fine," she said.

"No. You asked me to not leave you and I dropped you straight away."

She raised her eyebrows. A thought shot through my mind of 'what if she thinks that everyone does this?' which, frankly, made me feel queasy. If it _was _true, then no wonder she was upset. It must have been last year all over again.

The guilt doubled. At the very least.

"Ellis, I'm so sorry. I'm programmed for nuttiness, but this was…" I paused, chewing on my lip. "Brandon always says," I started, cautiously, "that the only two things you need to know about me are that I'm a paranoid hypochondriac, and that I enjoy it."

She smiled, reflexively perhaps, but it looked genuine.

"I thought that something was up, and that I knew better, but I was wrong, and I should never have left you, and I apologise."

She nodded slowly. "I accept your apology," she said, slowly, "although there really wasn't anything to apologise for." She sighed and for the first time in a while, the real Ellis showed through. "I shouldn't have asked you to do it anyway. It was unfair of me to put you in an awkward situation like that, not knowing the…full story," she said, trailing off to the end.

Curiosity, I'm ashamed to say, piqued me. Dead cats be damned. "What _is_ the full story?"

She sighed, and ran a pen between her fingers, absentmindedly. "Complicated and…" she said, "delicate, I suppose…" She trailed off again.

My curiosity shamed me. "You don't have to tell me, Ellis," I said. "It's fine."

She bit her lip. "I will," she said. "One day. Just not now."

"OK."

She nodded, smiling a little.

"So," I said, sighing. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure," she said. "Have a good night."

I stepped back out into the stable yard and let out a long gusty breath. Then I phoned Brandon.

"_What?"_

"Lovely phone manner, B." I paused. "I was just phoning to tell you that I've seen Ellis."

"_She's all right?"_

"I don't know. She says she is."

He made a dismissive noise. _"Yes, well…"_

"Yes. I thought you'd like to know."

"_You didn't tell her that you knew…?"_

"No," I said, "although it was pretty tricky to avoid it."

"_Yes, well," _he said again. He sighed. _"You need to come by here."_

"Why?"

He sighed again, irritation clearly growing. "_Because there's an irritating knot of people here who, despite the fact that I threw them out so that Laura could clear tables, insist on loitering on my deck."_

"It's Lorna, not Laura."

"_What?" _he snapped, even more irritated.

"Never mind. They're waiting for me?"

"_It would appear as much. Hurry up," _he said, then hung up, leaving me listening to a dial tone.

"Lovely," I murmured, then, with some coaxing, got my tired legs to move again, and walked down through the woods and out to the boat-house.

* * *

><p><strong>Northanger Abbey has now become my most-read Austen. Yes. Surprising, but true. And I enjoy it more every time I read it. I like that Catherine isn't dazzlingly clever and witty like Elizabeth Bennet, nor is she beautiful and wealthy like Emma Woodhouse, or a 'good girl' like Fanny Price. She's kind of normal, if a little loopy, and I love her. And I thought she made a great counterpoint to Elinor Dashwood's earnest do-gooding, which I read as stubborn and lonely. <strong>

**So, naturally, Northanger Abbey is all Jane Austen. I just added the CSI: Crime Scene Investigation references, Brandon, and I made the executive decision to remove James Morland's shirt at times. You're welcome. And yes, Henry Tilney is still a vicar. I won't apologise. He's the only non-wet, non-creepy, non-idiotic vicar that Austen wrote. I'm making the most of it. And he's ragingly hot. **

**Thank you to all who have read Part I this far. I hope you enjoy Part II. It's a little loopier. But then, so is Cate Moreland. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The Gil Grissom philosophy of life is, if a little pessimistic about the human condition, handy at times. It goes like this: people lie. Evidence, however, does not. It has served me well with my friendship with Ellis. Take case A: Ellis appears at the Delaford Kitchen asking about hairdressers. However, I quickly deduce that it is not, in fact, either a flattering "your-hair-is-good" conversation, nor is it the slightly veiled "I-feel-unattractive" conversation that it purports to be. No. Because in fact, while visual evidence does support her need for highlights, her general exhaustion, increasing weight loss and lack of social interaction reveal that it is in fact i) a much needed break from work which is ii) quickly becoming too much for her, and yet iii) she is so buttoned up that she can't admit it. Case closed. The state rests and all that.

I employed this same method while observing the rabble on the boat-house deck:

a) Jim couldn't stop watching Izzy.

b) Izzy clearly didn't mind, and was doing her own fair share of ogling.

c) Robbie was blatantly either i) proud of his Calvin Klein underwear or ii) had a nervous twitch that bade him yank his jeans down every few minutes. I suspected the former.

d) Robbie also had somehow both i) realised the ogling going on between Jim and Izzy and yet ii) seemed completely un-phased by it. He was, in fact, appearing to make lewd jokes about it.

e) Jim blushed easily. I made note to make the most of that.

f) Izzy didn't blush at all. It was due either to i) having heard it all before, ii) not caring or iii) not having the physical ability to either iv) blush or v) care.

g) Ed, however, was fazed. His frown coupled with awkward finger tapping on the railings gave me my first clues.

h) Harry, perched next to him on the railings, was also tapping his fingers. This appeared however to be motivated by song rather than nervous anxiety. I suspected _Bon Jovi._

i) Harry really was pretty cute. He didn't have Ed's vaguely classical outline, nor Robbie's paunchier version, but he smiled a lot. Even when Ed was looking at him so murderously.

j) Robbie's ringtone was _Yeah_ by _Usher._ Conclusions are obvious.

k) Harry and Ed either i) found the song _Yeah_ hilarious, or ii) found Robbie's use of it as a ringtone funny. Either way, they both smirked.

l) Harry was cute, even when he smirked.

Any further revelations were curtailed by Brandon who suddenly appeared by my side.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked in what was, while furious, also, thankfully, a whisper.

"Observing."

His lips thinned.

"Fine," I said, hands raised in defence. "I'm sorry. I shall go and talk to them."

He snarled, muttering something as he walked away and I, taking a deep breath, made my way out from the clump of trees which I had been hiding behind. I made a mental note to never tell anyone that I had done it. It would be too confusing. And somewhat embarrassing.

* * *

><p>"Cate! We've had the best plan."<p>

I smiled at Izzy. Her exuberance, while baffling to me after such a long day, was at least buoying. "OK," I said, warily.

"You're going to love it. Really."

"It is pretty sick," put in Robbie.

Harry and Ed both fought back the smirks. Again.

"OK," I said again. "I just need to talk to…" I said, pointing both index fingers at Harry and Ed. "Two seconds?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Just don't be too long." She slumped back into a chair next to Jim, while Robbie took up position, leaning against the railing, arms crossed over his chest. I determinedly turned my back on them.

"So," I said, face-to-face with Harry. "Sorry about that."

He grinned. "Not at all. You remember Ed?"

Ed, still clearly distracted, smiled.

"Of course," I said, and fought back the curious questions of what exactly did happen between him and Ellis. I considered saying that it was nice to meet him, but if he really had hurt Ellis, then I wasn't sure that it was true. I settled for smiling in return instead.

"I understand that you designed the gardens."

"Largely," I said, still a little cautious.

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you," I said, starting to relax.

"Cate, this place is extraordinary," said Harry suddenly, "and I can only surmise that it is because you, yourself are equally…" He trailed off. He paused. Then he smiled. "You know."

The bunnies returned full force with harps and confetti and those tiny cupid bows and arrows. "Really?" I asked, tremulously. "Thank you."

"Could I come back some day soonish and maybe, bring my father?"

I'll admit: the first half of the sentence excited me more than the second.

"I think he'd really like it," he qualified.

"Sure," I said, a little bemused.

He grinned. "You'd consider it?"

"What? Letting you come back? Sure."

"Good," he said. "Well, uh…Dad'll be really interested. He's seen a few places recently and wasn't a massive fan of them at all, but this, I think, this might do."

"Might do? Well that's flattering."

He laughed. "I meant it in a good way. He's picky, in the extreme. Anything that _suffices_ is, in anyone else's book, perfect."

I smiled again in return. "Well then."

"Yes."

We stood there in silence, smiling. I caught Ed's expression out of the corner of my eye, both bemused and baffled. Harry clearly saw it as well.

"So," he said, pulling himself together. "I'll bring him back, sometime soon, and show him the place?"

"OK."

He smiled again. "Could we maybe exchange numbers, so that I can call you and make a date…for it?"

The bunnies started skipping and singing in their tiny, high-pitched bunny voices. "Sure," I said. "That'd be good."

"Here," he said, and handed me his phone. In exchange, I passed him mine. A few seconds of tapping later, and we exchanged back. "I'll call you soon," he said.

"That'd be good," I said again. "I, uh…it was nice to meet you."

"And you."

Silence lingered again for a long few seconds.

"Likewise," said Ed, effectively shattering the moment. He grinned. "Come on Harry. See you around Rob, Iz," he called to the other end of the deck.

Harry smiled. "Talk to you soon," he said. And then they were gone.

* * *

><p>"You people take so long."<p>

"Sorry," I said, collapsing into the last remaining chair. "I just had a few things to chat about with Harry."

"Who? The guy with Edward?"

I felt myself frown, instinctively. "You don't know him? He seems to know you."

Izzy grinned. "Sweetie, everyone knows me."

Rob scoffed. "By reputation."

I chose to ignore both answers given. "Yes," I said, "well, he's Ed's flat-mate."

"Who?"

"The guy with Ed. Harry."

Izzy frowned. "And he lives with Edward?"

Robbie smirked and, lifting up a hand to his mouth, coughed. "Lovers."

Jim grinned.

"Right," I said, ignoring them as well.

"What, that they're lovers?"

Robbie snorted with laughter.

"I always did wonder…" she continued.

"No!" I protested. "Not as far as I know, anyway…" It did unfortunately occur to me, amongst the confusion at this point that Robbie might be right. What if _that_ was the secret that Harry knew about and that Ed finally told Ellis? What if he was breaking up with her because he was in a relationship with Harry? My head spun for a second. Then I noticed Robbie, still guffawing. So maybe not. "No," I repeated.

"Oh, it would kill Mum and Dad though," said Robbie, still clearly enjoying himself. "All that crap that he's put them through the last few years, and then that. I'd want to be there."

It didn't take a lot of _CSI_ to realise that I had another point of evidence, right in front of me. My curiosity got the better of me. "What has he done?" Clues, I told myself. These are clues to what might ultimately help Ellis. It was not in any way just plain old nosiness.

Izzy looked instantly bored. "Oh, you know. His teenage rebellion kicked in a little late."

"He doesn't want Dad's company or the work at all, apparently. He went through all university and then got the job that they had been holding for him since he was born, and, like, a year later, walked out on it."

"Why?" I asked, thoroughly intrigued. Maybe there was dodgy dealing. Maybe there was an affair. Or thwarted love. Or…

"He wanted to do some bleeding-heart crap with kids and poor people. I don't know." Robbie shrugged, propping his feet up on the table. "All I do know is that his position in the company has now been given to me." He grinned. "Take that you tree-hugging whacko."

Huh. I exchanged a look with Jim. I hoped that it would convey a swift 'this-dude's-an-idiot'. I rather suspect that he took it as a 'these-people-are-weird-yet-delightful' given that he grinned in return. I debated with myself whether his happiness after a year of moping and searching was worth all this. Regretfully, I reasoned that it probably was.

"So," said Izzy, clearly bored of talking about her family, "the plan."

"Ah, the plan," repeated Jim, indulgently. I gave him a look. He grinned again. Damn.

"Burgh Island," said Izzy. "We can walk across the causeway, watch the sun-set over the sea…"

"And more importantly, have a pint at the pub," put in Robbie.

"Now?"

"Why not?" asked Izzy. "The weather's perfect, we're all free, it'd be a brilliant end to," she said, looking pointedly at Jim, "a brilliant day."

He grinned again. Holy smokes.

"I'm pretty tired," I started. "I mean, do you even know what the tides are like? It might not be walkable."

Jim flicked both thumbs at the visible beach with a smile. "I think that it's low."

Robbie guffawed again.

"I meant," I said, somewhat primly, which wasn't exactly my plan, "that it's like half an hour round the coast. The time could be different."

Jim looked a little baffled. "It's five minutes difference, at the most."

Izzy clapped her hands with glee. "See? It's perfect. Low tide. Beautiful day. It takes me and Robbie half an hour closer to home. You get to come out with us. What's not to love?"

Her infectious enthusiasm was all that stopped me saying that I wasn't so in love with the fact that there was no chance of my lying in the hammock for a few hours, maybe reading _Jurassic Park_ before having a bath and going to bed. Home-spun Annie thankfully remained under wraps. For once. I glanced again at Jim. He really did look happy. Damn my caring about my brother. "Fine," I said. "OK."

Robbie whooped. Izzy clapped her hands again. Jim stood up, languorously, grinning, and helped Izzy up as well. "Good," he said.

* * *

><p>It was only once we were in the car park that the truth of the driving situation was revealed to me.<p>

"This is yours?" asked Izzy, wide eyed. Jim's truck, with its ample wood hauling abilities, stood in the car park, slightly rusty, slightly grubby, but every inch the manly man's truck.

Robbie hitched up his jeans from their perilously low position. "Cool, man," he said. "Mine's a bit sleeker." He smirked, and nodded to a low sports car. It _was_ sleeker. Glossy even, and certainly massive. The phrase 'compensating for something' sprung to mind. I mentally scolded myself, and nodded.

"Yeah," I said. "It's nice."

He grinned, wolfishly.

"So," said Jim. "Izzy's coming with me? Cate, you can go with Robbie."

What? I held back my immediate response of 'hell no' and instead managed to look bemused. "Uh, why? We could just all go in your truck."

"Sure," said Robbie, leaning against his car. "Then you could leave us to walk home from there."

"Oh, right," I said, silently cursing the plan that had somehow left no wriggle room for my not travelling with Robbie. Alone.

He grinned. "Come on," he said, "before we miss the sun-set altogether."

Reluctantly, I got into his car. It smelt like pine air freshener. I immediately opened the window.

"Oh, no, man," he said, putting my window up again. I had a brief flash of us having window-switch-wars. I decided against it. "The air conditioning in here is sick. It really is…"

"Really?"

He turned on the ignition. The car roared into life. Freezing, stale air blasted me in the face.

"See?" he all but yelled over the cacophony. "Like a Swiss time-piece or something."

Right. A massive, loud, stale-air-blasting, fake-pine-scented watch. Because I see those everywhere.

I watched as Jim helped Izzy up into the truck, and then, windows down, and her hair streaming out, they pulled out in front of us. She waved cheerily at us. I waved, resigned, back. Seconds later, a text appeared on my phone.

"What's that?"

I smiled a little. "I suspect that Jim has given Izzy my number."

"Why?"

"It just says 'road-trip'."

He laughed. "Yeah, man," he said, and we pulled out after them.

* * *

><p>Having Robbie drive behind Jim was, it turned out, a massive mistake. Both for his temper and my irrational sensibilities.<p>

"Look at that thing," he groaned. "Who drives something like that?"

"He needed it for work," I said, "and it was the best of its kind that he could afford at the time."

He raised an eyebrow. "At the time?"

I shrugged. "He had some money come in a little while ago from Mr Alan's will."

"Who's that?"

"A guy we knew in Barton. He was an old friend of the family."

"And he died?"

I nodded. "Last year? In the accident."

He nodded.

"The money that he left for Jim came in a while later."

Robbie smirked. "So he _could_ have bought something better?"

"He didn't need to," I said.

"Sure he did!" he exclaimed. "It's about to fall apart."

Here's the thing. I don't think of myself as a girly-girl. I preferred football and tree-climbing to dolls and tea parties when I was small. Thank two older brothers for that. Cars, however, leave me cold. I never really wanted to learn to drive. I've never really enjoyed travelling in cars, especially ones that smell like that fine line between pine trees and vomit. Therefore, the maintenance, care and condition of any given car are also a mystery to me. Jim's car could have been _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang _and I probably wouldn't have noticed. Until it flew.

"Really?" I asked, concerned. "How do you know?"

He waved a vague hand. "The exhaust and the weird thing with the side there and the way it corners…"

"How does it corner?"

He smirked a little. "Like a car about to fall apart."

Concern mounted. "If that's the case," I said, "then we should stop. Or go back. Or…"

Robbie dismissed my concerns with another vague hand wave. "Oh, no," he said. "They won't come to any harm."

"What? Cars crash and explode and people die in them, every day," I said with maybe a little more panic in my voice than I had intended. See? Not keen on cars.

He laughed. "They'd be fine," he said. "He's driving so incredibly slowly that they'd probably just roll gracefully to a stop." Jim's brake lights flared as he cornered. It seemed to switch Robbie from amiable laughter to rage. "See?" he said. "Mind-numbingly slow." He growled, kneading the steering wheel under his hands. "We'll bloody never get to freaking Burgh bloody island at this rate." There on followed a muttering string of epithets about just how slowly Jim was driving, at least half of which were anatomically impossible. Then, finally, he sighed, and, at a crossroads where, according to Robbie, Jim was being as cautious as a woman, he turned back to me. "So," he said. "You want to go see a movie?"

"Now?"

"No," he said, grinning. "Some time." He paused, negotiating a bend and a tractor both at once. "I've got to warn you though, I'm a bit of a film buff."

"Really?" I tried not to sound too incredulous. "What's your favourite film?"

"Anything by Tarantino, man. He's a visionary." Of course. I managed not to roll my eyes.

"OK."

"You seen any of them?"

"Oh, yeah."

He looked very slightly patronisingly at me. "Really? Which one?"

I prepared to enjoy the moment. "All of them."

"What?"

"All nine features. And the short."

"Right. Yeah." He looked a little distracted for a moment. "So you like him too?" he asked.

"He's all right," I said, vaguely. "Not my first choice of viewing, but I don't mind him."

"Right, right," he said, clearly thrown off.

I, however, preened. "So," I asked, "anyone else?"

"Uh…Spielberg, and…uh…you know."

I enjoyed his befuddlement. Then I scolded myself for enjoying it quite so much. "Yeah," I said, finally, putting him out of his misery.

"No rom-coms though," he said. "And black and white films leave me cold."

"OK," I said. "Fair enough, I guess."

"Right? They're just so…old."

"Yeah," I said. I wondered just how badly injured I'd be if right then, I threw myself out of the car. I concluded, probably quite bad. It would probably still be justifiable, but I did have to work the next day. I decided against it and instead concentrated on the views. The view which included considerably more water than I had imagined it should.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, and we pulled up at the beach. The sun hung above a perfect, smooth sea, glinting gold. Sea gulls wheeled above it. Burgh Island looked magnificent. Especially as it was entirely surrounded by water.<p>

"Huh," said Jim, hands clasped behind him head as he stood looking out over the beach. "I guess that it wasn't as low as I thought it was at Barton."

"You think?"

He flashed me a smile.

"It's just a bit of water," said Robbie. "We can wade through it."

"Yeah," said Jim, slowly, "but then it will be higher when we come back."

Robbie scoffed. "It'll be fine."

"Wait, I don't mind getting a bit sandy, but actual wading?" said Izzy. "My tan…" she trailed off.

"Will wash right off, yes," said Robbie.

She scowled at him. "Well what about that ferry-tractor-thing?" she asked eventually. "We could wait for that."

I mentally groaned. As it turned out, I groaned out-loud.

"Cate," moaned Izzy. "Come on. This is an adventure."

I hiked myself up on the bonnet of Jim's truck. Robbie, after all, would probably have had a coronary had I gone near his car's paint-job with my jeans and their rivets. "OK," I said. "Just as long as we either don't stay right here for five hours waiting for that tractor, or, in fact, get stranded on the island and then have to sleep on the hillside with the rabbits."

Neither option seemed to appeal to Izzy. She grimaced. "Fine," she said, and fished out her phone. Or what passed for a phone. Seconds of tapping the screen later, she sighed. "Cate's right," she said.

Robbie looked baffled. "What?"

I smiled, smugly.

"The review here says that the pub is for hotel guests anyway, this late." She jammed the phone back in her pocket. "I am not _wading_ all that way, just to get turned away."

"Oh come on," said Robbie. "They won't know any better."

She shrugged "I'm not doing it."

Robbie wheeled around. "Fine," he said. "Fine. We might as well go home, then."

"Fine," she said sullenly, and shrugged again.

Jim and I watched this exchange open mouthed. He was the first to pull himself together. "Well, uh…" he began. "I guess we should be getting back too."

Izzy leaped in front of him. "We'll see you again tomorrow, right?"

He grinned. "Right."

What? Tomorrow? "That's an awful long way to come again," I said, all concern. Kind of.

"We agreed it earlier," said Izzy. "It'll be easy. And so much more fun than home."

"Right…" I started. "I mean, I do have to work."

She laughed. "All right," she said. "Don't have too much fun all at one go." Then she reached up and kissed Jim's cheek. "See you tomorrow," she said, in a sultry tone.

He grinned. "Absolutely."

"Jim," said Robbie, waving a hand. "Cate," he said, with more intimacy and a certain lascivious look. He smiled. "See you then."

"OK then," I said, and hopped into Jim's truck, avoiding any chances of hands being kissed or, worse, anywhere on the facial region. Lips in particular.

He smirked. Clearly he liked the chase. I shuddered. Izzy lingered in front of Jim for a moment, a hand on his arm. Then finally, they tore themselves away.

"So," he said as we waved to the Ferrars and he started the car. "Good day?"

I smiled, and tried to channel Ellis. Lie. Just lie. "Sure," I said. "Really good."

* * *

><p>Therein followed a weird few days. The evidence was baffling:<p>

a) Jim was still chirpy. Chirpier than he had been for a year. I could only attribute it to the fact that:

b) Izzy and Robbie had made good on their promise and continued to show up. That, and the fact that:

c) Izzy was still fawning over Jim. In a big way. _This_ was not helped by the fact that:

d) He clearly did not seem to mind. In fact he was enjoying himself.

e) Robbie was also doing his fair share of fawning, or rather, leering.

f) I, however, had not encouraged it as:

g) I _did_ mind. It was weird. And a little gross.

OK so not so much baffling and more irritating. If only I didn't care about Jim, it would have been fine. Izzy and Robbie were delightfully blasé about each other, not to mention Ed and their older sister. And their parents. And humanity generally. They probably wouldn't have crossed the road for each other, let alone endured several days when they had to forego continuing to read about Dr. Alan Grant and his discovery of the Isla Nublar and its dinosaurs. Or foregone long baths and catching up on _CSI._ Or foregone the chance after work to trawl the new stock for the book-shop to see what brilliant _Mills and Boon _novels had been left. Damn my parents bringing me up well.

The weird, baffling, irritation was not at all helped by the arrival, a few days later, of Izzy and Rob's older sister and her husband.

"They've come down for a few weeks," said Izzy, clearly disinterested by the whole thing.

"To your parents' house?" I asked.

"What? Oh, yes," she said. "Something about Xander needing the stimulation of different environments, or something…"

Rob scoffed. "He's filthy rich with a mansion to inherit and the scores of women who naturally follow. What possible stimulation can he need? I mean," he continued, leaning back in the pub garden, feet up, and beer in hand, "he won't have to do anything. Lucky little…"

Izzy tossed her hair over her shoulder, bored. "As if _you_ work for your allowance."

"I do!"

"When?"

She had a point. We had known them for about a week, and apart from several references to his job, snatched victoriously from under Ed's nose, there was no other evidence of any actual employment. Warrick Brown would have been suspicious. If he wasn't already dead, that is.

"All the time. Just because you're too busy watching the psychic network and painting your nails…"

Jim laughed. Out-loud. It appeared to be the correct response as both Izzy and Rob lit up.

"See," she said. "Jamie thinks that it's ridiculous."

"He's laughing at you, girl, not with you."

Seriously? _Seriously? _This was the calibre of conversation? Izzy's profound effect on Jim had made me very fond of her, inanities and whackadoodlery aside. Rob, meanwhile, still made me want to put my head through a wall. Or lie down and submit to a flock of Procompsognathuses and their poisonous saliva.

"So your sister?" I began, hoping to steer the conversation away from what was fact descending into an 'oh no you didn't' battle.

Izzy sighed. "Yeah. They'll probably come up here tomorrow. Her husband is related to your friend. Ellie, I think, right?"

"Ellis?"

She shrugged. "I think it was Ellie," she said, regardless.

"Dashwood?"

"Right!" she said, recognition dawning.

"It's Ellis."

Izzy shrugged. "Oh, well. It's a weird name. I was unlikely to remember it."

I took a breath. Jim laughed again. The doting act was getting a little old, but I allowed it. For now.

"Well, anyway," continued Izzy. "He's her half-brother, or step-brother or something. Fifi says that he was like fifteen when they were born so he barely knows them."

"Right…"

"Of course, that's never stopped anyone from trying to get their hands on what isn't rightfully theirs, right?" she said, speaking as if from experience.

"Uh…"

She grinned. "You know Marc Willoughby, right?"

My curiosity was piqued. Already. Damn you Gil Grissom. "Yeah," I said, nonchalantly enough. "He's dating my friend, Mari."

"Who is Ellis's sister," put in Jim, languidly.

"Really?" asked Izzy, wide eyed. "Well that makes it even more interesting…"

"What?"

"He doesn't live anywhere near here," she said. "His parents live on the north coast."

Near Harry. My brain flipped and jumbled. I scolded it, and listened some more, doing police-inspectoralish encouraging nods.

"Anyway," she continued, "our parents are friends with his great-aunt who lives this way, and they say that he was shipped to live with her, age sixteen onwards."

"Why?" My eyes felt round. I wished I could be cooler about it, but there it was.

"The money," she said, and Rob shrugged in a world weary fashion.

"Isn't it always?" he said. "Always the money…"

"His parents didn't have a lot and he wanted to study something horribly boring and academic which had no hope of getting him a decent paying job, so they sent him to live with her. She paid for everything, and still is now. She funds whatever the hell it is he does."

"Architectural history," I said. "I think he's writing a thesis."

Rob made snoring noises.

Izzy successfully ignored him. "Well, whatever boring subject he does, word is that she's furious about something. Mum bumped into her a few days ago, and said that she was all red-faced and bulgy-eyed and looked like she'd kill him when she finally caught up with him."

Do not gossip. Do not gossip. Except, of course, this is helpful. For Mari. Or something. "Why?"

Izzy shrugged. "No one knows," she said, gleefully. "You'll tell me if you find out?"

"I…uh…" It is one thing to discover a wealth of information. It is quite another to spread it around like muck on a field. Jim, however, saved me from having to answer. Or, quite possibly, lie.

"You'd hear first, Iz," he said. "No doubt."

She smiled up at him. "You think?" She bit her lip. It felt a little too much like watching a _Mills and Boon_ playing itself out. I half expected them to be at it, against the wall, at any second. I tried not to look. It was, unfortunately, strangely fascinating.

"So, Cate," said Robbie, unfortunately turning his attention to me. "Did you think any more about a movie?"

I balked. "One in particular?"

He blinked slowly, long-sufferingly. "_Seeing_ one, with me."

"Oh, I, uh…"

He grinned. "Come on. Maybe we could double-date."

"Double-date?" squealed Izzy. She wrenched herself from her romantic stare-off with Jim, and turned back to us. "Fabulous! Us all together, hanging out. It'll be so much fun, Cate. Say you'll do it."

I worked hard to not ask how we had not already been double-dating, aside from the fact that Robbie gallantly let me buy my own drinks. "I'll have to see when I'm free," I said, eventually. "Cliff wanted me around these first few weeks."

Izzy rolled her eyes. "Cate…!"

"I'll think about it."

* * *

><p>Sunday had been relatively quiet. Brandon had turned up at the house at ten, asking if anyone wanted to go to church with him. It wasn't entirely out of the blue. He had gone on and off since becoming a god-father, seventeen years before. Recently, however, he had gone with more regularity. Dad wasn't all that bothered, preferring to stay at home, lie in the garden and then maybe, possibly, fire up the barbeque for lunch. Mum and I had accompanied him instead. She was a regular, and I, though not as regular, felt guilty for the amount of gossip wrapped up as 'evidence gathering' that had gone on. Also, there were some hilarious old ladies at the church who had brilliant stories about how they had stolen their husbands from boring girls and led lives of zany high-jinks. Or liked to let me believe it. After church, and Dad's charred offerings of meat, Brandon gave me a lift up to the Park, just in time for Sunday opening. It was somehow restful to work for a while, knowing full well that the Ferrars' had a family function that was keeping them at home. I did, however, have to break some slightly difficult new to Ellis. She, in turn, nearly broke her pen.<p>

"What?"

I cringed. "They said that your brother and sister-in-law may well be coming here tomorrow."

She dropped her head to her desk. "I heard…I just hoped I was wrong." She took a breath. "Here?"

"Yes."

Ellis who never showed emotion. Ellis who never allowed weakness in herself. That Ellis. She was clenching her fists so hard that her knuckles turned white. "Why didn't you tell them that we're closed?"

"Because we're not?"

"Argh!"

"I'm sorry!"

She looked up and stopped mashing her palms against her forehead. "It's OK," she said. "It's fine. It's not even your problem."

I shrugged. "I've got to know Izzy this last week. She seems to like Jim. It may become my problem."

She smiled a little, her head on one side. "You don't like them?"

I sat down, heavily. "I like Izzy fine. She's unlike any of my other friends, and probably would find most of them baffling…"

"You mean me?"

"No," I said, a little too quickly. And I hadn't meant her. But having looked again, Izzy would have been baffled by Ellis' deep and abiding love of her jeans.

Ellis raised an eyebrow. "OK."

"Anyway," I said, determined to move on. "Izzy's nice. Robbie, however…"

"Lecherous?"

"Yes!"

She smiled a little. "Mari and I spent the entire of John's wedding hiding from him. Thankfully, he's gets a bit dopey when he's drunk."

"I noticed."

She smiled a little more. "And he likes you?"

I sagged in my chair. "I think he likes anything with breasts, but yes."

Ellis laughed. "What a gent." She paused. "I heard that there was someone else…"

"Brandon?"

She cringed.

I sighed. "It's fine," I said. "He's an old gossip."

"So? It's Ed's friend, right?"

For the first time since Ed had come to the Park, and had, potentially, broken Ellis' heart, she looked like her old self, or rather, the flashes of her old self that had shown through last year. "Harry," I said, reluctantly. "Harry Tilney."

"Good name."

"It is, isn't it? I think it's…"

She smirked.

I sighed. Again. "I've only met him once. We just got on quite well."

"From what Brandon said, he couldn't take his eyes off you."

"He did not!"

She frowned. "Harry didn't, or Brandon didn't?"

"Neither."

She smiled again. "Whether Harry did or not, Brandon said he saw…something."

"He has bad eye-sight."

"Not noticeably."

"Sure he does," I said, "or he would have done the decent thing, noticed you right under his nose, and married you by now."

She smiled. "I doubt that, somehow."

I kicked off my flip-flops and curled up in the chair. "Because he's in love with Mari."

Her smile dropped a little. "Yeah."

"It's so sad."

She nodded. "But she and Marc are so happy."

"Has he proposed yet?"

She shrugged. "Not that I know. It seems imminent though."

"Yeah."

We sat for a second in silence. "So," I said, eventually, "I'm pining for a guy I've only just met while being leered at by a guy that I don't want. Brandon's little heart is broken over Mari who's in love with someone else and who is imminently going to be whisked permanently off the market. And you…" I swallowed the obvious next comment that Ellis was pining for Ed Ferrars but, for some mysterious reason, was not with him, and said, "…you, uh, are about to have to endure your sister-in-law."

Her head dropped back to the desk. "My evil sister-in-law," she said, muffled by her own arms.

"Right."

She looked up, giving me the evil eye. "Don't leave me this time," she said. Then she grinned.

"OK."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you all, once more, for the reading and reviewing and general awesomeness. As ever, Jane Austen's characters belong to her, and <em>CSI:Crime Scene Investigation<em> is also not my own. But that it were. Then Nick would have his own spin-off show.  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

From conversations with Ellis I had worked out that she and her family must have lived with her half-brother, his wife and their child for ten weeks from funeral to moving here. Yes. I am that dork. Except, having met them, I was genuinely confused as to how they actually did it as Francesca 'Fifi' Ferrars was an honest-to-goodness, terrifying, ice-maidenly bitch. Harsh, maybe, but true.

* * *

><p>"Cate," Ellis said, immediately sounding weary. "This is Fifi. Fi, this is Cate. She designed the gardens."<p>

I held out a hand. She raised her eyebrows, smirked, then, finally, took it, or rather grasped my fingers in a weak, fish-like hand shake. This was not a great first impression. Especially not to the daughter of Peggy- 'I will judge you by your handshake'-Morland. "Nice to meet you," she said, entirely without sincerity.

"Uh, yeah," I said, entirely thrown off. Ellis had, until this moment, kept very quiet about her family. We knew a little of it as Cliff, unlike his god-daughter, was a massive gossip. Mari had filled in some other gaps. However, the very fact that Ellis had barely told me any of it made me think that perhaps she didn't feel as strongly as Mari did. Or as Cliff imagined that she did. Her face told a different story. "You too," I said, trying not to be distracted by Ellis' crazed expression. "I understand that your family live down the coast?"

She looked blank for a moment. "Oh, right," she said, suddenly. "You met Robbie and Izzy."

"Yes."

She waved a vague hand. "They're here somewhere. They said something about going to the walled garden," she said, "but I don't see anything about that in here, Ellis," she continued, flicking the leaflet given out on the gate. "Is it a mistake?"

Ellis quickly packed away her murderous expression. I marvelled. "No," she said. "If you'll look here, it in fact says how the walled garden will be open later in the year, but that at present, it isn't ready for visitors." She pointed, jabbed, rather, at the paper. "See?"

Burn.

Fifi flicked her gaze back to her sister-in-law. "How silly of me."

Ellis flinched as if she had been slapped, and took a step back. "So I'm sure you'd like to look around. If you ask someone later we could meet and…"

"You're not going to show us around?"

Ellis froze.

"We are family, Ellis. You don't have time for one little tour?"

"El's going to give us a tour?" asked a tall man, unmistakeably like Ellis, who sauntered up behind them. "Hello!" he said, genially, and hugged her.

She, at last, smiled. Properly, as well. "John," she said. "How are you doing?"

"Pretty well. Between the job in the city and the estate in the country I'm keeping busy." He smiled. Then he saw me. "Hi."

"Oh, sorry. John, Cate. Cate, my brother, John."

"Half-brother."

Ellis flinched again. "Right," she said, smiling stiffly at Fifi. "Half-brother."

John rolled his eyes, and held out a hand to me. "It's nice to meet you," he said. "We would have come and visited sooner, but Ellis has been so busy, and then we've been hectic…"

"It's fine," murmured Ellis.

"And we couldn't possibly have come sooner," put in Fifi. "We've had far too much to do."

He smiled at her, indulgently. "Of course." He turned back to Ellis. "So. A tour?"

She sighed. "I really am quite busy today. I can arrange for someone else to give you a tour."

At that, Lucy appeared at Ellis' elbow. Lucy who, for some inexplicable reason, Ellis couldn't seem to stand. For the first time in a long time, however, Ellis greeted her with genuine joy. Or maybe relief. "Lucy!" She turned back to her family. "Hold on one second."

"It can wait," said Lucy, a little awkward given that it normally seemed to take her a good minute to engage Ellis in conversation of any kind. Ellis was elusive, at best. Today, though, she was effusive. Lucy shot me a look. I shrugged.

"No, it's fine. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to check some things about the new information, and I was going to ask about references, only Lou isn't around, so I was going to leave it with you…"

"Yeah, you can. That's fine. Can we meet at some point about the other stuff?"

Lucy smiled. "Of course. Any time."

Suddenly, a look of revelation crossed Ellis' face. "Oh, wait," she said, a hand on Lucy's arm as she turned to walk away. "Are you free now?"

"Yes…?"

Ellis grinned. Actually grinned. It was rare. "Brilliant. Could you possibly show my family around the house?"

Lucy glanced at Fifi and John. Then she did a double take, and blushed to the roots of her hair. "Oh, I, uh…"

"I really can't believe that you're so busy Ellis," put in Fifi.

Elli sighed gustily. "Well I am. I'm sorry. Lucy?"

She took a breath. A desperate, short breath. "Sure," she said, sounding anything but. "OK."

"Brilliant. Thank you," said Ellis. Then she turned back to her family. "This is Lucy. She's been seriously involved in the reorganisation and cataloguing in the house. She pretty much knows everything. She will take you on a tour of the house."

"Thank you," said John. "That's really kind. Maybe we could meet for lunch?"

Ellis sighed. "Sure," she said. "Lucy, if you take them up to the boathouse at about one, I'll meet them there."

"Them?"

Ellis turned back to Fifi. "Yes."

"OK," said Lucy, looking both terrified and bemused. "I'll do that."

"Brilliant. Right, well, I'll see you then. Cate?" she said, and together we walked away. Silently. Ellis didn't say a thing. She just breathed really heavily. We walked right back to the estate office, went in, and she dropped like a stone into her chair with a massive sigh.

"What the hell happened there?"

She smiled a little. "Two birds. One stone."

"There were three of them."

"It's a saying."

I sighed and sat down opposite. "You are a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma."

She smiled. "Good."

* * *

><p>I can't lie. I considered going to the boathouse at lunch, just to watch Ellis interact with her brother and sister-in-law. I felt like some budding naturalist, observing them in their natural habitat. Except, of course, Ellis would have probably considered firing me if she knew that I was getting so much entertainment out of her pain. As it happened, just as one o'clock approached, my phone rang, so I sank into one of the sofas in the staff room and, cup of tea in hand, answered it.<p>

"_Cate? It's Harry." _

I nearly threw my tea over myself, so desperate was I to appear cool. Down the phone. I hadn't started well. "Hi," I said. "How are you?"

"_Oh, I'm fine. Busy. Is this a good time for you?"_

"Oh, yes," I said, carefully putting my mug on the old coffee table. "I'm on my lunch break."

"_Me too."_

There was something nice about knowing that we were both taking breaks at the same time. Not entirely surprising, it being lunch time, but I ignored that fact and happily garnered some pleasure from it. "You having anything interesting to eat?"

He laughed. _"It's a really good last-night's-sausage-meatloaf sandwich."_

"Ooh."

"_I know."_ He laughed again_. "How about you?"_

"Nothing that fancy. Oh, that said," I amended, having got up and looked through the fridge, "there does appear to be gazpacho in here."

"_What's that when it's at home?"_

"Cold soup."

He laughed once more. _"OK,"_ he said. _"Is it possibly just cold soup?"_

"Yes, but," I said, having dipped a finger in it, "it tastes really good, so I'm going to eat it."

"_You're stealing someone else's lunch?"_

"No. Brandon puts extra portions of stuff in here for the hard working minions of Barton Park."

"_He probably doesn't want you cluttering up his fancy restaurant,"_ he said, somewhat muffled through what I assumed was his sandwich.

"He probably doesn't!" I said, shocked at the revelation. "Damn."

He laughed again. Finally, not sounding quite so sandwichy, he said, _"so."_

"So?"

"_I talked to my Dad."_

"OK."

"_And he is kind of interested in coming down to Barton."_

"Kind of?"

He laughed. _"He's not the demonstrative type."_

"Oh, OK," I said. It was all somewhat outside my realm of experience. My Dad is absolutely the demonstrative type. You can't shut him up at times.

"_Is that all right?"_

"Yes, of course," I said. "He likes gardens?"

Harry cleared his throat. _"Yes, I suppose…"_

"Is there something that you're not telling me?"

He paused_. "Uh…"_

"Harry?"

He laughed. _"I thought it might be best not to freak you out."_

Snippets of our other conversations floated back to me and suddenly I had an epiphany. "He's looking at having his garden remodelled."

"_Yes."_

"Harry!"

He laughed. _"Look,"_ he said. _"He hasn't got anywhere close enough finding anyone he likes yet, so I have no idea what he wants, either in a designer or from one."_

"Right?"

"_All he has been asking me to do is find out about well respected, experienced, exceptionally talented garden designers."_

"And you thought of me?" My voice sounded a little crazed. I tried to tone it down.

"_Yes."_

I paused and the weight of what he had said finally sunk in. "You thought of me." The bunnies sang shrilly. He thought of me. We had only met once, and yet he thought me to be well respected, experienced, and above all, exceptionally talented.

"_Yes," _he said again, and my heart flipped. _"Look," _he said again. _"I've got the weekend off, so we thought we'd come down, stay nearby, have time to see the garden, get ideas, maybe meet you…"_

"OK."

"_Yeah?"_ I heard a smile in his sigh. _"Good. Well I'm hoping to keep Friday clear, so we'd get down to Plymouth about midmorning, then maybe come over there for lunch?"_

"Absolutely. That'd be good."

"_Good,"_ he said again.

"Why Plymouth?" I scolded myself as the question came out. He, however, didn't seem to mind.

"_Oh, my brother has a house there. He normally rents it out, and then that money helps to pay for his London flat, but he's…uh…just got it empty again and might use it a bit more. It seemed ideal, you know? It's only, what, forty minutes from Barton?"_

"Yeah."

"_It'll be easier than driving right back to Dad's house every night."_

"Right."

"_And it means we can stay later."_

I paused. "Right," I said again. Later? What was he implying? Except before I could ask, my phone started making call-waiting sounds. "Oh, Harry? I've got someone on the other line."

"_It's fine,"_ he said. _"I've got things to do anyway. Maybe see you at lunchish time on Friday?"_

"That'd be nice."

"_All right. See you then."_

"Bye."

I sighed. I picked up the other call. Then I said, "Hello, Izzy."

"_Cate! Where have you been?"_

"Working?"

She made a dismissive sound_. "Oh…are you free now?"_

I was slumped, in the old sofa, the room cool from the thick walls and flagstone floors which was a glorious relief from the sweltering heat outside. Izzy was no doubt basking like the lizard that she appeared to be. _Jurassic Park_ sat in my bag, just waiting to be read. Gazpacho sat, in front of me, cold and delicious. Selfishness sat heavily on my shoulders. "Not exactly."

"_Come on!"_ she wheedled. _"It's lunch time! Surely you can take a lunch break?"_

"Well…"

"_Cate!"_

I sighed. I reminded myself that I did like Izzy. I checked that I still had my mace in my back pocket, just in case Robbie got a little frisky. "Fine," I said. "I'll be there in about twenty minutes?"

"_Twenty? Where are you?"_

"Oh, you know, just a little tied up."

"_Literally?"_ she asked. "_Like,_" she dropped her voice, _"in a kinky way? Because I'm totally into that and…"_

"NO!"

"_Oh."_ She sounded disappointed. Weirdly. Maybe she wanted a partner in erotic crime. It sounded like a _Mills and Boon. _A plot line from _The Sheik's Forbidden Bride. _Or my personal favourite, _Love Me, Love My Bed._

"I'll be there soon," I said in as placatory tone as I could muster, given my joy at a good fifteen minutes of delicious lunch and dinosaurs.

"_All right,"_ she said. _"Be quick."_ With that, she hung up, and I turned gloriously to my lunch and book.

* * *

><p>Friday came round exceptionally slowly. Excruciatingly, agonisingly, mind-numbingly slowly. I think, in the wait, I may have accidentally sent some people the completely wrong way when they asked for directions to the beach. Well they should have owned a compass, or at least have that watch hands lining up with the sun thing down. I had thought I had worn the mask well, except when Friday did finally roll around, Brandon and Jim watched me with gleeful anticipation.<p>

"So?" asked Jim. "What is it happening today?"

"What?"

"That was my question."

"Why do you think that something's happening?"

Brandon scoffed from his end of the breakfast table where he had unceremoniously arrived a while earlier and demanded breakfast, only then to complain that there were no croissants.

"Make your own," Mum had said, but then rather undid her good smack-down-ing work but kissing the top of his head.

"Something is happening," he said, spreading strawberry jam thickly on his toast. "You've been skittish and weird and asking far too many questions about the menu for Friday, the expected guests on Friday, the weather…"

"The pollen count," put in Jim.

"I have not!"

"You actually have," said Mum, bringing the pot of tea to the table with her. "Sorry love, but you have."

I groaned.

"So?"

"Nothing!"

Three pairs of eyes watched me, sceptically.

"What?"

"Nothing?"

"Yes, James, nothing."

He smirked. "OK."

Brandon studied the pot carefully as he poured himself a mug. "Oh, by the way," he said, deliberately not making eye contact, "I had a call yesterday asking if bookings could be made at the restaurant."

"Really?" I was cool. Suave even. James Bond-esque.

"Does the name Tilney ring any bells?"

I did my best inscrutable face.

"She's blushing!"

"Boys!" Mum scolded and yet, she smiled a little. Traitorously.

I clamped cold hands to my cheeks and found them to be burning. Damn. "So what?" I asked, aloofly.

Brandon and Jim both grinned back at me. Mum tried to hide hers, but failed somewhat. "You like a boy?" she asked. "It is a boy, right? Not a man. Or a lady? It's not…"

"No, Mum. He's my age-ish."

"Oh. Good." She smiled. "And he's coming to the estate today?"

I sighed, and slid down the old church pew seat that I was sitting on. "Yes. With his Dad."

"You're meeting his father? That's a good sign!"

"It's a weird sign," put in Brandon over his mug of tea. "She only met him for half an hour. Collectively."

Mum snapped back to looking at me, forehead all concern, eyes wary, tea slopping onto the table. "Half an hour? Cate…"

"Oh, she's not running off and eloping with him," said Jim, "I think. Give her a break."

"See?"

"What does he know?" grumbled Brandon. "He's infatuated with a girl who I doubt knows her five times table."

"Brandon!"

He smiled at Mum, and shrugged. "It's true."

"It's not," I put in, "but he is infatuated with her."

"Hey! I stood up for you!"

"Having served me up in the first place."

He smirked. "Fine. And I'm not infatuated. I just…like her. A lot. She's fun."

"Like Malibu Barbie."

"Brandon!"

He smirked at Jim and engaged in a brief kicking battle which only really succeeded in chasing Mavis, our old and skittish cat, out of the room.

"Boys…!" Mum gave up and made a fresh pot of tea, Brandon having drunk most of her first one. By the time she came back to the table, the skirmish had ended. "All right," she said, calmingly. "Brandon, you will stop winding up your brother and sister."

He smirked at her. "OK?"

"And I don't care if you are thirty-one, I can still tell you off."

"I'm thirty-three, Mum."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She sighed. "Well. Then you should know better."

"Those two years have made all the difference," put in Jim.

"And you could do with not being so sarcastic," she said. "It has been a hard year, and I'm thrilled that you're happier, even if it is at the expense of the IQ of your new girlfriend…"

"Mum!"

"…but you are just as bad as Brandon."

Brandon grinned at me. "And what about Cate, Mum?"

I scowled at him. Mum, however, beamed at me. "She'll be fine. Just as long as she keeps me informed of this boy and whether she is, in fact, going to go off and marry him without telling me."

"Half an hour," I said. "I've seen him for barely more than half an hour. Give me a chance."

She smiled. "I will. You deserve a nice boy."

"And we don't?" protested Jim.

"You want a boy?"

He, in return, scowled at me.

"I'm sure you'll all end up with lovely people," said Mum, on high-placatory mode. "Now finish your breakfast and clear out. I'm making jam."

* * *

><p>"Isn't it a beautiful day?"<p>

Brandon grinned, and placed a hand against Ellis' forehead. "You don't feel hot…"

She batted his hand away, grinning right back. "Stop it. But isn't it? It's lovely! I feel like I could pack work in for the day and go swimming. All day."

"Who are you, again?" asked Jim, looking confused.

"You don't feel better when it's glorious like this?"

Brandon turned to Jim. "I suddenly see how she's related to Mari. It all makes sense…"

She rolled her eyes. I, however, smiled back at her. "I totally agree," I said, "as do they. They've spent the whole morning so far rough-housing. It's a wonder that no-one's crying yet, they're in such high spirits."

She smiled. "Good. So. Ready for work?"

"I thought we were packing it in and going swimming."

She grimaced at Brandon. "No. I said I wanted to."

"Hey, maybe later," I put in. "I could fancy an after-work swim."

"That is, if you're not with lover-boy."

"What?" asked Ellis, turning between me and Brandon, mystified.

"Nothing."

"Cate?"

"It's nothing!"

Jim laughed. "I've got to go," he said. "I'll see you later."

"Swimming?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "Maybe. I'm not promising anything. Have a nice day Ellis. Try to crack a smile."

She grinned back.

"I've got stuff to do too," said Brandon. "I'll no doubt see you later," he said with a smile for Ellis, "and will absolutely not see you at lunch," he said, smirking at me. "Not at all. No chance."

"Shut up."

He grinned. Then he ambled off.

"What's going on?" asked Ellis, falling into step beside me as we walked back towards the estate office.

"Nothing. I…" I cringed. "Harry's coming back to Barton."

She stopped dead. "Harry Tilney? Ed's friend, Harry? Harry who knows Marc, and…"

"Yes."

Her look of sunshiney excitement had disappeared.

"Ellis…" I paused. "Ed's not coming. It's just Harry. And maybe his Dad."

"Oh, I…" she protested. "No, it's fine. I was just…you know. So." Her look of glee returned, a little less exuberant than before. "You and Harry?"

"It's nothing. We're friends, he's looking into garden design for his Dad, they're coming to look around. It's nothing."

"That's not what Brandon said!"

"He's an idiot."

She smiled. "OK. Oh, had you heard? Lucy's been offered a job."

"Really? Where?"

Ellis developed a look that hung somewhere between smug and triumphant. "Uh…my brother's estate? Norland."

"Lucy's been offered a job at your old house?"

"Yes."

"As what?"

"Curator of the ever decreasing collection open to the public." A look of sadness flitted across her face. Impressively quickly, she wiped it away. "Anyway, it's a good job, and a step up for her, and actual pay rather than an internship…"

"Plus you get rid of her."

She looked at me, shocked. "Why would I…?"

"I don't know."

She smiled a little. "No."

"Sneaky, Dashwood. I don't know what you've done, or why you've done it, or how, but I'm impressed."

"I've not done anything."

We reached the door to the office and she stopped, swinging the lower stable door back and forth with her hand. "Really?"

"Really." She smiled.

"OK. But you are high on happiness over it."

She smiled again, yet said nothing.

"I'll figure you out one day, Dashwood. Just you wait."

"Bring it on, Morland."

* * *

><p>Accusing Ellis of subterfuge had taken my mind off the impending visit of Harry and his Dad. Visitors hadn't yet arrived, so I went to the staff room, and started looking at new plans I had started for the rest of the garden. They weren't going to be needed for a while yet, but it was good to start in early. The work, while important, did not fulfil its primary obligation. I was still thinking about Harry. That was, until Nancy and Maggie arrived, box files in arms, print-outs a plenty.<p>

"We want to improve the tree house," they said.

My heart sank. I asked whether visiting children would be allowed to use their tree house. Then I wondered whether it was the general question or my use of 'children' which created such scorn. I suggested that if Cliff and Ellis were to OK the plans, that maybe scaling it back a little would be a plan. The scorn increased. I pointed out that a large, thirty foot high monkey cage was a little impractical. They explained it, patronisingly for my old ears. Apparently it was all solvable with an underground tunnel network and a zoo keeper who had no morals. I decided that resistance was futile. I scanned in their plans to my laptop, and told them that I'd have another look. They left, disgusted. I, however, had managed to not think of Harry the whole time. Except then he phoned.

"_Hi,"_ he said. "_It's Harry."_

I could hear the road rumbling in the background. I had flash backs to that advert when someone phones from the road and then dies, live on the line. "Are you driving?" I may have sounded a little more hysterical than was really warranted.

"_Yeah, but it's all hands-free. It's legal."_

"It's dangerous!"

He paused. _"Uh, Cate, my family are in the car." _His tone was even. I could hear a smile lurking there somewhere. I dialled back the paranoid.

"Oh, you know. I'm just cautious."

"_Good thing too," _came a gruff mutter. "_Yes…" _cut in Harry. "_Well. We're on the way."_

"To Plymouth or…"

"_No, to you."_

"Oh, OK, so…"

"_You still up for lunch?"_

I took a breath. "Sure. That would be good. I'll give Brandon a call and get him to hold a table."

"_Oh, I kind of already did."_

Right. Brandon's breakfast ammunition.

"_Is that all right?" _he asked. _"It was kind of presumptuous…"_

"It's fine. It's good. What time shall I meet you?"

There was a pause. "_We'll be about half an hour. That'll take us to, what, twelve? Maybe half-past?"_

"OK," I said, trying to stay calm. "Great. I'll see you at the boat-house then."

"_See you then," _he repeated. Then he hung up.

I took a deep breath. "You've only known him for half an hour," I said to myself. "He may be a raving psycho-loony." Strangely, the thought calmed me.

* * *

><p>Harry Tilney was, in no way, a raving psycho-loony. He was delightful. It occurred to me afterwards that perhaps I had a little <em>too <em>much faith in him. After all, anyone else, upon seeing the guy whom they have a major crush on, would freak out at seeing him with another girl. One about my age. Maybe a little younger. Very pretty. Except I didn't. The thought never occurred to me.

"Cate," he said. "This is my sister. Eleanor."

"Hi," I said, and we shook hands.

I really wish that I was more suspicious. Gil Grissom would have been more suspicious. I, however, was raised in the country and wore homemade dungarees. However much I may think that people are trying to kill me, I still don't really believe it. Nothing happens here. Nothing exciting. I said as much when we chatted with Eleanor while Harry went off to find his Dad.

"It is beautiful though," she said. "Really lovely."

I nodded. "Especially on a day like this."

The sun was streaming in through the open doors. The sea was sparkling. The sea gulls wheeled. I felt a little guilty for disparaging it for its coma-inducing-boredom.

"Can I get you anything?" asked Brandon, hovering over my shoulder, smirking at me.

"I think we'll wait for the others to order," I said, with a definite look at him. "Come back later."

"No drinks? Something cold? A little elderflower pressé?"

I gave him another look. This gregariousness was, to anyone else, delightful and yet to me, it was horrifying. It could only mean that he was up to something. "Fine," I said. "Eleanor, that all right with you?"

"Lovely," she said, smiling.

Brandon smiled right back at her and then swept off officiously.

"I'm sorry about that."

She frowned. "There's nothing to apologise for…"

"He's my brother."

"And you're apologising for…?"

"His very existence?"

"Fair enough." She laughed. "I know the feeling. I've got two brothers."

"Both older?"

"Yes."

"Join the club. Disenfranchised younger sisters, persecuted by irritating older brothers."

She laughed again. "I'll make the badges."

"Badges for what?" Harry appeared behind her.

"Our all girls, no-boys-allowed club."

He grinned. "Right."

Brandon reappeared. "Drinks," he said, putting down the jug of elderflower, followed by glasses.

"Brandon, right?"

Brandon smiled, still somewhat smugly, at Harry. "Right," he said. "Harry?" They shook hands.

"It's nice to see you again."

"You too," he said, sounding reasonably genuine. Then he glanced at me and, unseen by the others, waggled his eyebrows. So maybe not. "I'll send someone over in a few minutes to take your order," he said. "The specials are on the blackboards on the back wall."

"Thank you," said Harry, ever delightful, and Brandon disappeared, much to my relief.

"Where's Dad?"

Harry sat down. Opposite Eleanor. Next to me. "Making his way here. I told him that I'd come ahead." He turned to me. "He got a little distracted by a rose, somewhere? He says that he hasn't seen it since his childhood and that it's cultivated beautifully, and…something."

"I see that his love of gardens has been passed down to you."

He grinned. "I like them. I just know nothing about them."

"How about you, Eleanor?"

She smiled. "I massively appreciate them. I can name a handful of flowers. I can request a nice bouquet at the florists and avoid having carnations in it. Aside from that, however, I'm not much better than Harry." She paused. "I could point out a hyacinth to you. Does that help?"

I laughed. "Maybe."

"It's better than I can do," said Harry.

"And you have more to do with flowers than me," put in Eleanor, looking pointedly at Harry. "You know. All those flower ladies."

He groaned and she grinned. "I'm in the middle of World War Three with some of them at the moment."

"Difficult?"

He looked up at me from where he had slumped his head into his arms. "You could say." A smile emerged. He then turned sharply to Eleanor. "You must see quite a lot of flowers," he said. "All those bouquets sent to the hospitals…"

She smiled. "I see them. I jam them in vases. I have no clue what they are."

"Where do you work?" I asked.

"The Maternity Ward of North Devon District."

"You're a midwife?"

She nodded. "Pretty much. I'm like the substitute teacher of the mid-wife world. Or at least, I'm doing training and orientation at the moment. In a couple of months, they'll be letting me loose, alone, on babies."

"Do you enjoy it?"

She had been smiling before. At this though, her whole face lit up. "Oh, yes. Helping people through their scariest moments and then seeing their faces suddenly change when you give them their baby?"

"It's miraculous," put in Harry.

"It is," she said. "Absolutely."

I smiled. "I wish now that I did something a bit more…useful. You two, saving lives and saving souls…it puts me to shame."

Harry frowned. "Rubbish. Where would we go on our few days off if no one thought that it was important to make places look like this, or to cook for others or, you know…"

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"What you do is important," he said, and he smiled. And my heart flipped. And then I saw, over his shoulder, Brandon. Smirking. Again.

* * *

><p>"Have you ordered?" The same gruff voice that I had heard over Harry's earlier phone call startled me, and I turned to see an older gentleman standing opposite me, bushy eyebrows raised, somewhat unimpressed expression on his face.<p>

"No, Dad," said Harry. "We were waiting for you."

He huffed. Then he looked pointedly from Harry to me and back again.

"Oh, right. Dad, this is Cate Morland, the garden designer. Cate, this is my father, David Tilney."

He extended a hand which I shook. I thought of my Mum. I shook hard. First impressions are everything.

"It's nice to meet you Mr Tilney."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's _General_ Tilney in actual fact, but likewise, young lady."

Harry rolled his eyes. He seemed to have shut down. So had Eleanor. They had both frozen into wary, sullen versions of their formerly delightful selves. It was intriguing.

"Sorry," I said, aware that maybe I should tread carefully.

"Not at all. It was Henry's mistake, not yours."

Harry shifted a little in his seat.

"Now, Miss Morland. May I call you Catherine? I assume it is Catherine."

Hadn't Harry just told him? I risked a glance at Harry, but he was still looking at his hands. Not at his father, and certainly not at me. "Uh, yes," I said. "Or Cate."

General Tilney paused. "Thank you," he said, "Catherine. You designed the gardens?"

"I just said that," muttered Harry.

"Yes," I carried on quickly. "Or at least, what needed doing."

He raised an eyebrow again, but said nothing.

"You know…" I started, lamely, "parts of the parterre, the more informal parts of the garden, along by the lake…I designed them all, but some bits didn't need a lot besides some care and attention from the gardeners. The rose garden, for instance."

General Tilney didn't move at all for a second. He reminded me of an ancient lizard. At any moment I expected to realise that his eyes moved independently and that his eyelids were see-through. "You did not design that?"

I wished at that very second that I had lied. "No," I said. "I wish I had, but no. It is part of the original design from when the house was built. It's one of the only bits to have survived the years."

He paused again. It was agony. "I believe that that shows extreme sensitivity in design," he said slowly. "To design something from scratch is one thing, but to appreciate what was there before? I believe that takes great skill."

Harry's head shot up. Eleanor looked dumbfounded. General Tilney smiled. "I look forward to seeing around the rest of the garden."

"I…thank you."

He nodded.

Then, mercifully, Lorna turned up with menus, and the General's attention was diverted. Harry, however, grinned at me. It was only then, having exchanged looks of exuberant relief, that I saw Robbie coming in. He frowned. Then he walked straight out again.

* * *

><p>General Tilney disappeared for the afternoon. He took a leaflet of the garden and, twinned with his rudimentary skills with a digital camera, he strode off.<p>

"I'm sorry," said Harry with a sigh, standing at the steps up to the boat-house, watching as his father disappeared down into the woods. "He's a complete and utter…well…" He sighed again. "He's difficult."

"He's fine," I said. "I've met plenty of people like him before." It wasn't exactly a lie. I _felt_ like I had met Alan Sugar. And Ebenezer Scrooge. And all those murderers on _CSI._ Except I didn't say that to Harry. "Did you find out any more of what he's planning?"

He shrugged. "Nope. He doesn't really tell us anything." He sat down heavily on the steps. Eleanor was still inside, freshening up after a particularly explosive meringue for pudding. I paused, watching Harry, his head resting in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He looked exhausted.

"Are you all right?"

He looked up and smiled, wearily. "I'm fine. Already a little tired of the prospect of my father, for a few days solid, but yes. I'm glad that Nell's here."

"You seem close," I said, sitting down next to him.

"Yeah. After Mum died I made the effort to be around a bit more. I couldn't leave her alone all the time with Dad."

"I'm sorry."

He smiled again. "Thank you."

"How long ago did she…?"

"Four years."

"I'm sorry."

"You already said that."

I shrugged. "I'm still sorry."

He smiled. "Thank you. Again." He paused. "You kind of remind me a bit of her. She was artistic. Didn't pass it on to any of us, though." He smiled, ruefully. "However much we try and deny it, we're all more like Dad. We've got that military, utilitarian streak in us."

"Your brother as well?"

He smiled. "And my older sister. We're all organisers. Do-ers. Mum found us all baffling."

"She wasn't so much of an organiser?"

"Rick alphabetised her spice rack when he was ten. It threw her for months. She had always worked with this crazy system of various things in various places. Anyone else would have been mystified but it worked for her…" He trailed off. "That was always how she was. It drove Dad crazy at times, but, you know." He shrugged.

"Right." Except again, I didn't really. My parents don't drive each other crazy so much as they both already are mad. Dad, between barbeques and experimental baking, and Mum, writing impossibly complicated Christmas plays for the Sunday school and using one of the kittens as a paper weight came screaming to mind at that point. They never seem to annoy each other. They just get on with life, weirdly unaffected by the others' particular brand of whacky. The rest of us could be driven spare, finding kittens in the kitchen cupboards, being presented with the weirdest of cakes at birthdays, equally likely to be a show stopping success, or accidentally have a whisk baked into it, but they were and are always the calm, if weird, centre to our storm. No drama. No worries that either annoys the other or would leave or would do something stupid. Despite my penchant for paranoia, a fear of my parents splitting up has never, ever, crossed my mind. So I didn't understand. But I tried to.

Harry smiled. "It's nice being back," he said.

I smiled back. Words weren't really necessary.

We walked to the estate's eastern boundary on the cliff path, and then sank down into the sheep-nibbled grass and basked in the mid-afternoon sunshine.

"This," said Harry, hands clasped behind his head, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, "is the life. Far better than trolling around any old garden."

"Harry!"

I laughed. Sycophantically

He cracked an eye and grinned. "No offence," he added.

"None taken. I'm with you on that one."

"Cate!" scolded Eleanor. "Stand up for yourself. Stick it to the man. Tell him that he's an idiot."

I grinned. "I would, but on a day like this…?"

She sighed. "So much for the emancipation of women. The worker. The common man. One sunny day and it's all over."

Harry propped himself up on one elbow. "Since when did you become the proletariat?" he asked her. "From what I remember, you went to private school."

She blew a raspberry at him.

"Children…" I murmured, too busy enjoying the sunshine and their company to actual stop them.

Harry laughed and dropped back, flat, against the grass. "So," he said eventually, "is this what you do every day?"

"If only. Most days I don't clear my schedule and hang out on the cliff-tops."

He turned his head and fluttered his eyelashes. "Only for the most deserving of guests?"

"And the ones with deep pockets and few morals."

He grinned again. "So is your schedule clear for the next few days? More opportunities for lying on cliff-tops? Cream teas? Maybe, at some point, discussing the garden?"

I shrugged. "I should think so. I'm not needed so much now that the house is open properly. My hours are seriously flexible since I'm seriously underpaid."

"Excellent."

Eleanor, eyes still closed, doing a very good impression of someone sleeping suddenly said, "I could fancy a walk while we're here. You know any good places?"

"Sure," I said. "The cliff path is beautiful, and the little bays along here are great."

She turned and opened an eye. "Tomorrow?"

"Sure," I said. "Elevenish? That would give me time to get a bit of work done and placate Ellis."

She smiled. "That would be great. Eleven. Barring any unforeseen weather-related problems." She closed her eyes again. "Bring your swimming things."

* * *

><p><strong>I've been torturing myself by comparing visitor numbers to this story, and all my others. Let's just say that either a) <em>The Dumbest Thing<em> was one heck of a lot better than this, or b) there's about one hundredth of the people perusing this board that hang about the _Pride and Prejudice_ board. I think both are possibly true. However, I need to man up and write some more. So thank you for sticking with it. And thank you for trying it. And thank you hugely for reviewing: it really does make my day. **


	4. Chapter 4

**I had some lovely reviews recently, and a great review on _The Dumbest Thing_ so I was inspired to post again. So thank you to those reviewers who buoyed me up. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

As it turned out, swimming things were quiet appropriate. I woke early on the Saturday morning to something of a tropical storm. I didn't know we had them in England, but it appeared that _The Day After Tomorrow _was right. Rain lashed my windows. The trees were blowing hard, bent to a nearly horizontal position. My first thought, upon leaning precariously out of my bed to look out of the window, was for the plants at the estate. Once those worries had past, I remembered the walk. The walk wherein I had been going to take Harry and Eleanor out onto the Barton cliffs. I would have taken the Middleton's dogs out for them, as Cliff and Diana were still crazy busy, and most of their kids were either unavailable or somewhat unreliable. Nancy, for instance, could easily have been too busy, drawing up new designs for a tree house. Or fort. Or planning with Maggie some kind of assault on Poland. Anyway. It would have been us and the dogs, bursting out of the shady woods onto sun-baked cliff paths, me leading the way as some intrepid explorer, showing them the way down into some hidden cove where I would potentially see Harry Tilney in board shorts. Topless. The thought had not slipped my notice. We would have splashed and swam and I would have demonstrated my considerable coast-raised swimming ability. We would have laughed. I would have produced some fancy lunch packed by Brandon with a coy smile and an elegant shake of a tablecloth. Except this was where the fantasy died. I have never and will never be coy. Or elegant. So I gave up my miserable daydreaming of what might-have been, wrenched myself out of bed, and accepted tea and toast from Mum, complete with home-spun assurances that as there was 'rain before seven' it would be 'fine before eleven'.

* * *

><p>Eleven rolled around, and despite my bargains with the gods and assurances that I would stop planning to ogle Harry's naked chest, the rain still poured. I had already done several hours of work, all on the understanding that, along with the non-ogling, I would also get my work done before going. Going, however, seemed a little fruitless. The clock above the stable chimed eleven, and it still looked like the end of the world outside. I half expected wolves and snow. I dragged myself into Ellis' office and slumped into the chair, opposite her.<p>

"Hello," she said, an eyebrow raised at, presumably, my general expression of depression.

"I was supposed to be going out with the Tilneys at eleven, except we made the fatalistic mistake of saying 'if the weather's good'."

She smiled. "It's lightening a little."

I shrugged, half-heartedly. "They're a good forty minutes away. If it was pouring when they were going to leave, then they won't have come."

Ellis smiled again, reassuringly. "It might not have been raining there at all," she said. "It's quite a way away. Maybe the rain's moving that way."

Hoped dawned. "Maybe," I said.

A few taps of her keyboard later, and she winced. "Or not."

"Not?"

She turned her laptop around. The weather map showed a massive rain cloud, covering the whole of the area. I slumped back again, defeated. "Typical."

"They're around for a few days more, aren't they?"

I nodded, morose.

"You'll get a chance to hang out with them some more," she said. "Don't worry about it."

I sighed.

"And take off as much time as you want," she said. "You've worked hard until now. It's a horrible day. There won't be a lot of people coming out at this rate."

I sighed again. "OK," I said. "Fine. Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, as always. "Marc's taking Mari out tonight."

"You think tonight's the night?"

She shrugged and smiled. "Maybe."

"Wow. Engaged. At twenty-two. She makes me feel like I haven't been putting myself out there enough."

She smiled again, ruefully. "And me?" she said. "I'm fighting being pleased for her with a smattering of jealousy."

I managed to stop myself from looking too surprised at Ellis' honesty. Telling someone that you are blown away by their uncharacteristic use of a) their feelings and b) the truth, probably isn't very complimentary.

"Well I hope it all works out for her," I said, with Brandon's face bobbing in my subconscious.

"Me too. And for you."

I leaned back. "It's still raining."

"I meant in the grand scheme of things."

"Like how?"

At that, like fate, dropping a gem in my lap, a knock came at the door. Except fate is, at times, cruel.

"Hi. I'm looking for Cate. More…Morman. I was told she'd be here and that is was all right to knock?"

Ellis, with door open in such a way that my view of whoever was behind the door was blocked, smiled a little. "Robbie."

"Uh…yes?" He sounded dumbfounded, as if he had only just discovered himself to be the centre of an epic, world-wide scam where everyone knew him and watched him eagerly.

"We've met, like, four times."

"Really?"

Ellis looked at him in disbelief. Given that it was still raining, I suspect that she was quite enjoying it. "Your sister's wedding? My house? My brother?"

From the other side of the door came silence. Then finally, "right! Ellie, right?"

"Ellis."

"Right! You work here!"

"Right."

"And do you know Cate?"

Ellis shot a look at me, and then finally, opened the door properly. "Cate? Someone to see you."

He walked in, soaking wet. "Hey," he said. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" He sounded vaguely accusatory.

"I've been here. Or in the staff room. Either way, quite easy to find."

Ellis shot me a look. Maybe I shouldn't have been so snarky, but all my hopes of Harry arriving were squashed under Robbie and his assumption that my greatest wish was to neck with him in the back row of a movie. Any movie. Oh, but as long as it wasn't a romantic comedy, black and white, or foreign.

"OK, well…" he said, wrong footed by my unapologetic answer. If he was upset, however, he got over it fast. "So, Jim was saying that you'd be here, and we were thinking of going out somewhere…you coming?"

Romantic. Like Westley and Richard Gere and the Beast, combined. "Where?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's raining pretty hard."

Huh. The rivulets of water, washing the gel out of his hair hadn't flagged that one up at all. Weird.

"Maybe into town? Or we could go back to our place? Whatever. I just thought, you know, we could hang."

"Well, I'm pretty busy here," I said, glancing at Ellis. "Plus, I'm waiting on some…clients. They were supposed to come down to see the garden at about eleven, so…"

He checked his watch. "It's like quarter past," he said. "They're clearly not coming."

"Maybe I should wait."

He shifted his weight, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. He looked like he was about to burst into song in a _Newsies _tribute. "Maybe? Is it, possibly, the Tillys that you're waiting for?"

"Tilney, Robbie. Tilney."

"So it is?"

"It doesn't matter," I said, sweeping it all to one side. "I've got too much to do, I've made promises…"

He swung round to Ellis who had snuck back into her office chair and was, no doubt, transcribing our conversation for Brandon. "Ellie, come on, help a dude out."

She raised an eyebrow.

"We're like family!"

"Her name is Ellis, but whatever…"

He turned back to me. "Come on," he wheedled. "They aren't coming now, right? I mean, they've got all that way from Plymouth, and it's worse there."

"How did you know that they're staying in Plymouth?"

"I talked to David yesterday," he said, simply.

"You know General Tilney?"

He shrugged. "My aunt knows him, or something. I don't know, but I happened to chat to him, all good stuff about you, by the way, thanks for nothing. Really, the very least you could do would be to come out and thank me. For all my good work." He raised his eyebrows, expectantly. "Come on."

"Ellis?"

She shrugged.

I leaned in. "Is this payback for last week?" I hissed.

She shrugged again. "Not at all. I just need my office back."

"Ellis!"

"Have a lovely time," she said, loud enough for Robbie to hear.

I scowled at her. She smiled back.

Damn it.

* * *

><p>Thankfully, we all went in one car. Much less opportunities for groping and leering when on a double date. Hopefully.<p>

"We're going in mine," said Robbie, grandly, as we arrived at his car. The passenger door opened, and Jim got out.

"Plenty of room in the back for short people," he said, grinning.

"Sorry," said Robbie in an undertone. "I would have liked for you to sit up front but Jim got wedged and…"

"It's fine," I said, breezily. I slipped into the back, and found myself next to Izzy who squealed with excitement.

"You came?"

"Uh, yes."

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. I've barely seen you for _ages!_ Ages, Cate. It feels like years."

"It's been, like, two days," put in Robbie, "but I hear you. You've been seriously incommunicado these last few days, Cate. Where've you been?"

The car roared into life.

"Oh, you know," I yelled. "Around. Working, mainly."

"And sucking face?" asked Izzy, not quite loud enough to be heard above a) the raucous engine, or b) Robbie's raucous music.

"What?"

"You know," she said, grinning. "Edward's cute friend. With the hair."

"No," I said. "I mean, he's been around but his sister has too."

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Seriously," I said. "We're friends. I've known him less time that I've known you guys. Barely any time at all."

She grinned again. "Well, it's been enough time for some of us."

"What?"

She made eyes at Jim.

"Seriously?"

"Nothing's happened," she said, "but I wish he'd do something. It's like trying to make out with monk."

"Really?"

She grinned again. "Not that I've tried. Except that one guy was pretty cute…"

"What are you girls talking about back there?" bellowed Robbie.

"Nothing!" Izzy called back.

Jim looked back over his shoulder and grinned at her. She fluttered and preened, all for him. Then he turned back and she gave me a look. "Maybe he's not getting the right signals."

"Believe me, he is. Just give it time."

She shrugged. Then she turned to look out of the window.

The lane was pretty narrow at that point, and we met a Jeep coming the other way. Typically, Robbie continued on, forcing the Jeep to reverse into a passing place.

"Should do too," he said. "You buy four wheel drive you can blooming-well use it." Except, obviously, he didn't say 'blooming'. Or anything else that could have been in anything less than a fifteen-rated film.

He did, graciously, slow down a bit, offering us the perfect view of the other car's driver. It took me a second. I was thrown off, and I couldn't place him, but suddenly I realised.

"It's Harry! Robbie, you need to stop."

"What?" he asked, and roared the car off. "Sorry Cate, can't hear you, what did you say?"

"It's…" I gave up. I turned around, just to see Eleanor looking back through their back window. She was frowning.

Damn it again.

* * *

><p>"<em>So…"<em>

"I'm so, so, sorry."

"_You have a good day?"_

"Harry, will you just…?" I took a breath. "I'm really sorry, I didn't think you were coming _and,"_ I added, "I was kidnapped against my will."

He paused. _"But did you have a good day?"_

"No. Not at all. How about you?"

He laughed. _"Not great, but then I spent most of it thinking that you ditched us, and that you didn't like us and…"_

"Please say you're winding me up?"

He laughed again. "_I was grumpy, but then your brother gave me cake and coffee and it turns out, he's a genius and I'm unworthy."_

"You see any more of the garden?"

"_Nell and I didn't. We stayed inside eating cake. Dad, however, was thrilled."_

"Thrilled? Why?"

"_He wanted to see it in all weathers. All angles. All lighting and conditions and, you know…he's really happy. Or as happy as he gets."_

"Wow."

"_I know."_

I took a breath. The weather had continued miserably all day, and the heavy clouds made it look hours later than it was. My room was dim and gloomy, and I leaned over to turn on a light, nearly falling out of my bed in the process.

"_So," _he continued. _"What _did_ you do that was so bad?"_

I groaned. "We went to a Chilli Farm, if you can believe it, where normal people would have read the boards and wandered around the exhibits, but my brother and Robbie decided that it was a good time to have a chilli eating competition."

"_Oh no."_

"Yeah. It wasn't pretty. Then, as luck would have it, Izzy picked up a leaflet for the Miniature Pony Centre."

"_The Miniature Pony Centre?"_

"Yes."

"_I think we went there for Nell's eighth birthday or something. That's quite…far."_

"Is it? Would you think, maybe, an hour from Barton?"

"_An hour?"_

"Yes. In the car. With Robbie insisting on playing the best of Queen, the whole way there. And the whole way back. Because I had the temerity to suggest that we didn't listen to music so misogynistic that I felt violated."

He laughed again. "_OK, well, if you were trying to make me feel better by letting me know that your day was much, much worse…?"_

"Yeah?"

"_You succeeded. Entirely."_

"Good."

He paused. _"Miniature ponies are weird. I was freaked out the whole time we were there. I felt like a giant."_

I smiled, and finally, the sun broke through the clouds and the sky turned all shades of red.

* * *

><p>The red sky was a good omen. The next day I woke to blazing sunshine. Everything was green and fresh, the sky was cloudless and Mum was already brewing coffee. That, also, was a good sign. I had arranged with Harry to meet him and Nell at the house, and we'd walk from there. He was dropping his father off at Barton Park first, for some extra snooping time. I tried not to think about it too much. I focussed on getting out of the house, with Harry and Eleanor and the sun and the slight possibility, given that the gods did not answer my pleas the day before, of ogling. It seemed perfect. We'd leave before Robbie and Izzy had even half a chance of waylaying me at work and kidnapping me. I heard Brandon arrive just as I got out of the shower, which made me feel slightly guilty that a) I wasn't going to church, and b) I was dragging Harry, the <em>vicar<em> off, away from church. A warm pain au chocolat and a mug of coffee soon made me forget, however. Except then, Robbie and Izzy arrived.

"What are you doing here?"

Izzy grinned. "Isn't it great? Jamie suggested it!"

Mum raised an eyebrow. Brandon choked in his coffee. Jim, even, blushed a little.

"Hi," she said, totally unaffected by the family-wide moment. "I'm Izzy."

"Sorry," said Jim, the blush receding. "Izabella and Robbie Ferrars, my Mum, Peggy, my brother, Brandon, I think you know."

"Right," she said, coyly holding out a hand. Brandon had immunity. Or didn't care. Or was still too hung up on Mari. Either way, he raised an eyebrow, smiled sardonically as only older brothers can, and shook it.

Mum tried to hide her smile. "It's nice to meet you," she said.

"Oh, likewise."

Then she turned back to me. "So, Cate, we were thinking the Milky Way Adventure Park."

"The what?"

"Come on!" she wheedled. "There are rides and rollercoasters, and really dorky animal displays…"

"I found it online last night," said Robbie. "It looks really dumb, but, you know…could be a fun way to waste a day."

"_Waste_ a day?" asked Mum, lips pursed. She is such a mother. Wasting days is on a par with drugs and kidnap. In her world, if you get up later than nine, you might as well sleep the rest of the day. The best is already gone.

"Yeah, man," said Robbie, carelessly.

She raised her eyebrows, then sipped her coffee again. Strike one against Robbie. I tried not to smile.

"I'm sorry guys, but I'm doing something else today."

Izzy and Robbie turned to me. Or rather, turned _on_ me. Even Jim joined in. There was a barrage of wheedling enticement, all shades from joking to bullying. In fact, there was so much gesticulating that coffee got split on my clothes. They laughed. They told me to go and put something on suitable for the Adventure Park. I, for the meantime, gave it up and went to find something else. Resistance was futile, no matter how many times Mum tried to butt in to my aide. My plan was to change, grab my things, then shimmy down the drain pipe. I'd never done it before, and our drain pipes were plastic and flimsy, not to mention the massive rose bush outside my window but if all of my heroes of children's fiction could do it, then I was going to too. It was my only option.

I had just got changed out of my coffee stained clothes and left them to soak in the bathroom when I heard a car pull up and doors slam. I skidded back into my room and to the window. There, in the front garden, were Harry and Nell. There, walking down the path towards them, was Robbie. I was too far away to yell, and my window chose that particular moment to jam. It was probably providential, as I was just dressed in bra and pants, and would have forgotten than fact. Anyway, I threw on my clean clothes, picked up my things and ran. By the time that I burst into the kitchen, Robbie was sauntering back in.

"Where are they?"

He grinned. "I put them off until tomorrow. Today is Adventure Park day! Now you say 'Thank you Robbie…?'"

I looked at him in disbelief for a second before dodging around him, yanking open the door and haring down the garden.

"Cate!" someone called from the house, but I really, truly didn't care. I was too angry. I flew into the lane just in time to nearly get run over by Harry's Jeep as he started to manoeuvre it round. He shrieked to a halt.

"What are you doing?" he said, leaning out of the window. "I could have run you down!"

I leaped to his door and clung to the open window, suddenly finding myself a little breathless after running, dodging, weaving and nearly dying under two tons of Jeep. "Hi."

"Hi," he said, looking a little concerned for my state of mind.

"What did he say to you?"

"Oh. That you're going out with them today, but you'd see us tomorrow. Probably." He smiled. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's fine, Cate. We can go and explore on our own, and go and see the gardens again and…"

"I'm not going with them."

"It's fine."

"I'm-not-going-with-them," I said, slower this time. "Seriously. I want to come with you guys."

Harry pauses. "You really don't have to…"

"Eleanor will you tell him?" I asked, finally a little desperate.

She turned to Harry. "Harry," she said, slowly, grinning. "I think she wants to come with us."

He smiled. Then he turned to me. "Really? You're not just being nice?"

"Oh, good grief!" I turned, wrenched open the back door of the Jeep and got in. "I'm coming with you. Drive."

He turned in his seat. "We're not walking from here?"

"Not while they're still here! Go, go, go!"

He laughed, at last, and fired up the engine.

"Hey," he said, pulling off up the lane. "I have a present for you."

"Yeah?"

He fumbled with the cd player for a second, and then the close harmony voices started: '_Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy…?'_

"Funny."

He laughed again. "I am."

"I don't get it."

He blindly patted Eleanor's face. "You will, grasshopper. One day."

He pulled out onto to road, and we started heading towards Barton. Then he joined in with Freddie Mercury, and I found myself grinning. Inanely. And joining in too.

* * *

><p>Sometimes I just wish I could bottle a day. Then, when I'm feeling less perky, I could uncork it and it would flow out again. Cold, crisp Christmases and the first day of spring. Mum's birthday a few years ago, or that time my cousin's baby fell asleep on me. The puppies I played with when I was six and then tried to steal. The moment that I learned to whistle in an acorn cup. This was one of those days. It would spill out, bringing the hot air, hazy with the dust of the cliff-top path and the smell of gorse and dry bracken. Out, too, would come the sun, bouncing gold off the sea which, in turn, was glassy. The seagulls' screech would be there as well, wheeling over us, diving beside us. And then there'd be Harry. Harry and Eleanor and laughing and walking and scrambling down the path to the cove and paddling until we were all too hot to wait any longer and then, after undignified races to change behind rocks, leaping, splashing into the sea, acting like puppies, shaking our heads to clear the water from our eyes. Ogling Harry. Yes. I did. And he was <em>fine<em>. Dragging ourselves out of the sea and lounging on the beach before finally, getting too hot, throwing ourselves back in the water. Eleanor getting a bit too cold but Harry insisting on staying in the water. Laughing just with him. A look or two. A moment or three. Finally, with sunburnt noses and numb toes, crawling back up the beach to where Eleanor had unpacked the picnic, expertly crafted by Lorna on our swing by the boat-house. Pasta salad and rocket and bread and tomatoes, so hot that they popped in your mouth. Cake and apples. Lemonade, to make it feel like an Enid Blyton adventure. Then, with sun cream freshly applied and rules of swimming defied, dropping back into the water again. Chatting. Bobbing in the clear sea, laughing and working our way through every topic that Miss Manners would not allow. Politics. Religion. Some topics that she would not have thought of. Whether a panda would beat a fox in a fight. Whether hyraxes really could be related to elephants. Whether evolution was, in fact, a massive scam. Harry came down on the side of 'no'. I suspect that he was doing his best not to sound like a religious fundamentalist. I apologised for dragging him away from church on a Sunday. He laughed and said that he went every other solitary week of the year, and one away was probably good for him. I apologised again for Robbie. He grinned and shrugged and suggested another swim. Finally, with the sun swinging round and down towards the west, we gathered our things together and scrambled back up the cliff-side, grateful for its trickiness in keeping others away, although once half-way up and sweaty, slightly disgruntled. We reached the stile at the boundary of the estate, and there, turning back to see the sea and the sun and remembering the last few hours, I firmly bottled the memory and stowed it away, preciously.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, I was glad that I bottled the memory. Had I not, it might have got spoiled by the hours afterwards.<p>

* * *

><p>We had arranged to meet General Tilney back at the boat-house for afternoon tea. I had offered, albeit not very enthusiastically, to properly show him around the gardens, but he had said that he wanted to see it for himself. He had to understand it, he said, without anyone else's help.<p>

"It's a garden," Harry had said. "What is there to understand? Plants, trees, paths…"

I hit him in the chest. "Clearly he's a visionary and you are just, you know, the organ grinder's monkey."

He had grinned right back. "Clearly."

The boat-house was pretty busy, what with Sunday afternoon visitors and locals, making the most of the best cream-tea for miles around. Brandon, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"He's up at the estate office," said Lorna when I asked. "He said he'd be back soon."

We sat out on the deck, hands wrapped around cool glasses of water, feet propped up, chatting about nothing in particular, and finally Brandon reappeared. He looked like death.

"What happened?"

"What?"

He answered fast and curt, looking angry and confused, and I got up and followed him back inside. He paused, vacantly, behind the bar, until I dragged him off to the store room.

"What's going on?"

He passed a hand over his face and round onto the back of his neck. "Mari," he said.

My heart sank. Marc had proposed and Mari had said yes and Brandon had just found out and…

"Marc left," he said. "This morning. He just upped and left and she's devastated."

I sat down, dumbfounded. "He left? With no warning?"

He leaned heavily against the shelves, causing them to rock a little. He didn't seem to notice. "He…uh…" He sighed. "They went out to dinner, she thought he was proposing. He, in fact, told her that he was going away on business for an unspecified amount of time and that he'd be out of mobile reception and away from email."

"He cut her off?"

"Pretty much."

"Why?"

Brandon punched a wall. Actually punched it. "Because he's a no good, dirty rotten…" It went on. His language wasn't very appropriate given that he has a god-daughter. And there was a vicar sitting outside.

"Brandon!"

He stopped. "I don't know. He's an ass."

"Clearly."

He leaned against the wall. "She cried. And I was glad, because he had left, and I'm horrible, and Ellis looks dreadful and it's just…"

"Yeah." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Might he be…telling the truth?" I asked, slowly. "I mean, he's an architectural historian. He goes and looks at big old houses and writes about them. Isn't it possible that he's somewhere that actually doesn't have mobile reception or email?"

Brandon looked at me, blinking owlishly. "He's in America."

"There you go then."

"They have phones, Cate!"

"I know," I said, soothingly. "But it might be awkward, or difficult, or…you know. I mean, not to burst your bubble, but if he's telling the truth and he does come back…"

He stared at me. Then he swore again. "He's a liar and a cheat."

"Or he's caught in some old lady's house while he investigates her coving."

He rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't a euphemism."

"Might as well be," he muttered.

"Brandon!"

"Ellis knows," he said at last, exasperated. "It's what is upsetting her so much. Mari is convinced that he'll come back and he'll sweep her off her feet and propose and…" He sighed. "I don't trust him."

"But why?"

"Because he got Beth pregnant!" he bellowed. Then he took a breath, wide-eyed, and stepped back.

We sat in silence, processing. Then the door opened and Harry looked round it.

"Is everything all right?"

I stood up. "It's fine. I'm sorry. I'll be out in a minute."

He smiled. "Let me know if I can do anything." Then he closed the door.

"What could he do?" asked Brandon, scornfully.

"I don't know. He's a vicar. He talks to people all day long."

He rolled his eyes. "Talking is not going to sort this bloody mess out."

I paused. "Marc got Beth pregnant? Your sixteen year old god-daughter, Beth?"

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "She's seventeen. One year older than Libby was when she had her."

"Holy…" I sighed. "Does Ellis know?"

"No," he said. "There's no need now. He's gone for the moment, probably for ever."

"What about Mari?"

He gave me a look. "You think she'd still be so convinced that he's coming back?"

"No. I guess not." I sighed and leaned back against the door. "When is she due?"

He blinked up at me, slowly. "Twelve days ago. She had him, rather."

"It's a boy?"

He nodded. "Christopher, for her grandfather. She's calling him Kit."

"That's nice."

He nodded again. "Christopher Brandon Williams."

I smiled. "Good name."

Slowly, torn between reluctance and pride, he got his phone out of his pocket and, having scrolled through a few things, held it out to me.

"He's sweet. Are they doing all right?"

"Fine. They're doing well. Chris and June were horrified but they didn't even think of throwing her out. Not after…" He sighed. "You know."

I nodded in return. "Who else knows?"

He shrugged. "Me. You. Them. Dad."

"Dad?"

"I had to tell him to look after the restaurant that first night."

I nodded again. Then recognition dawned. "I think his grandmother knows. Or aunt. Whoever pays his bills."

"Who? Marc?"

"Izzy said something about his aunt being furious with him and probably killing him when she finally caught up with him."

He nodded, slowly. "It would explain matters. Being sent off fast. Beth said that she was well cared for. It probably has come with a gag-order and assurances that his name won't be on the birth certificate." He sighed again. Then he stood up properly. "I have work to do."

"I can do it. You're pretty upset here…"

"No, it's fine," he said. He even smiled, however false it was. Clearly he had learned well from Ellis. "Go and join your friends again," he said. "I'll bring you some tea over."

"Brandon…" I started but he waved me away.

"It's fine. I'll bring scones as well."

"Thanks," I said, and then followed him out of the store room.

* * *

><p>Harry stood up as soon as I came out into the restaurant and walked over.<p>

"Are you all right?" he asked. "I'm sorry I butted in. All we could hear was yelling, and…" He paused. "I was worried."

I smiled and grasped his arm and tried to not notice how my stomach flipped. "Thank you. I was fine. Brandon was really upset about some family issues going on, and he needed to vent."

"He's all right now?"

I glanced over to where Brandon was leaning on the counter, staring vacantly out to the sea. "He will be," I said, "eventually."

Harry smiled, sympathetically. "Good," he said. Then, "Dad's back."

Great. We walked back to the table where before there had been chat and lounging. Now Eleanor was sitting up properly. She had frozen up from her alter-ego displayed on the beach. Now she was exchanging stiff words with her father. She smiled, though, at me.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

"It's none of your business, Eleanor."

She flinched.

"It's fine," I said, wanting at that very second to flick the General in the back of the head. "Just some family stuff." I sat down. "Tea is on its way."

"Ouf, it's almost too hot still for tea," said Harry, also sitting. He grinned. "I could do with another swim."

"It acclimatises your metabolism, Henry," said the General. "It won't make you too hot."

Harry paused. "Thanks, Dad," he said, then rolled his eyes.

"Catherine, I wonder if you would be free to talk tomorrow?"

Harry and Eleanor exchanged glances behind their father's back.

"Uh, yes," I said. "Any time."

"The park is not closed?"

"No," I said. "It will be, out of season, but for these first weeks, we're open every day."

He nodded. "Good. Then we shall talk tomorrow."

Harry smiled. "You're here now, Dad. Why not talk right now?"

"No. Tomorrow will do very well."

"That's fine," I said. "Really. Tomorrow."

Harry grinned and rolled his eyes again. "Tomorrow then," he said, and before his father could turn, disparagingly, the tea arrived.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for all your reviews. They really are incredibly encouraging. Specifically:<strong>

wyread: **I was going for 'gruesomely attractive' when it comes to Robbie. I'm glad that's how he's coming off. He wasn't going to be showing up a massive amount hereafter, but I'm tempted to shoe-horn him in: he's just so entertaining to write. **

**Also thanks to LJ. She knows why, and it wasn't until I read through _The Dumbest Thing _that I realised that I hadn't given her her dues recently.  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Friends, you recent reviewing has been extraordinarily lovely. So here's some more. Thanks a million.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

There was a Shakespeare quote that Mari was very fond of, especially in her gloomier moments. "_When sorrows come," _she'd say, "_they come not single spies, But in battalions." _Fair enough. She had had plenty to be sorrowful about, especially with Marc leaving heaped on top. I had, for the time being, stored away the information about Marc and Beth and little Kit. Brandon was right. It wouldn't help anyone. Not right then. It was hard, though. I wondered whether this was why Ellis was as she was. Secrets are hard and have to be tamped down and squashed, otherwise they try to rise to the surface and spill themselves. She had been holding her family together for a year, the threads barely grasped, meshed in with lies and secrets and worries and fears. She didn't need any more secrets. She didn't need to lie any more. That said, that Monday, I could have done with having someone to tell everything to. It piled up rather quickly, like a drifted bank of snow. It all started with breakfast.

* * *

><p>It appeared that, having turned up once at the house, Izzy and Robbie had decided that it was acceptable for them to turn up early, any time they liked. Dad was still waltzing around in his boxers and bath-robe when they arrived. He, typically, didn't turn a hair, but invited them in.<p>

"You must be Izzy and Robbie," he said, expansively. "Welcome."

Wow.

"Robbie," he continued, "it's great to meet you. And Izzy," he said, turning to her, grasping her arms, kissing both cheeks, "welcome to the family."

Wait. What? "Uh…what?" I asked.

"Pardon," corrected Mum, passing me a cup of tea.

"Welcome to the family?" I hissed at her.

"Jim proposed," she whispered back. "Try to look pleased."

How did she know? There was no time for actual thinking.

"Cate?" said Izzy, tentatively walking towards me. "Sister?" Oh boy.

"You're engaged?"

She flashed the ring at me, her face split in one massive smile.

"Wow. I mean. Wow."

"I know!"

"When did he propose?"

"Uh…" Seriously? She forgot? He had to have proposed yesterday. They'd known each other for a grand total of eleven days. This was like some weird Hollywood moment where they then get married with their Chihuahuas dyed pink and forty million doves let loose. "Yesterday," she finally said. "On the beach."

"Not at the Milky Bar Experience?"

"Milky Way Adventure Park," corrected Robbie, a little testily.

"Right. Sorry. Not there?"

She shrugged. "When you couldn't come then Robbie didn't want to," she said, leaving a nice pause in which for me to feel guilty. I determinedly did not. "So Jamie and me went out for the day and went to this big old castle, and then had dinner and then out onto the beach, and it was just perfect."

"Wow," I said. Again. It was starting, however, to lose its shock factor. "Engaged."

"I know! Maybe we could get married from the place you work Cate."

"And Jim."

"Right! He has a perfect way in there. We could get married here!"

"Oh, it would be lovely," said Mum, forgetting her displeasure for a second and rolling with the crazy.

I gave her a look. She blinked, smiled, and regained her sense.

"Maybe after a while of being engaged though," she added. "Long engagements are so classy."

I marvelled. She had read Izzy well.

"Really? Well, maybe."

At that, Jim appeared. "Hi!" he said, facing his entire family in the kitchen. "Wow. You're all up."

"And Izzy's here," I said. "Look. Your fiancée."

He bit his lip. "You got home too late for me to tell you."

"Brandon gave me a lift. Oh, wait, he doesn't know yet." I got my phone out. Jim, gratifyingly, winced.

* * *

><p>"<em>What?"<em>

"Jim's engaged."

Silence rang down the line. _"Are you joking? You are, aren't you. Cate, I don't have time for this, I…"_

"No. I'm deadly serious."

"_Cate…"_

"I am!"

Silence rang out again. I waited. Jim winced some more. Izzy looked worried. "Does he not approve?" she whispered to Jim. He smiled a little. I felt relieved. Whatever was going on, however stupid this scheme may be, at least he seemed to like her. Love her, even.

"_He's engaged? Who to? That girl?"_

"Izzy," I said, and smiled reassuringly at her. Jim sidled over and slipped an arm around her, kissing her hair. I tried not to look too bemused.

"_He's only known her for a day! Did he fall and hit his head? Is he, perhaps, dying?"_

There were few ways to answer him without letting Izzy know what he had said. So I laughed. "Ah, B, I'll let them know." I removed the phone from my ear. "Brandon says 'Congratulations'."

Izzy squealed. Jim, away from her sight-line, raised an eyebrow. Robbie looked bored.

"_I did not,"_ said Brandon. "_Tell him that I think he's an idiot."_

"He says that you're a lucky guy," I translated to Jim. His eyebrows shot higher. Izzy, however, sighed in ecstasy.

"_Will you stop…?" _Brandon sighed. "_Sometimes," _he said, "_I kind of hate you."_

"The feeling is mutual," I said. "Talk to you later."

"_I'm stopping the free food," _he said as I hung up.

* * *

><p>"Maybe we could all go out," said Izzy, carefully. "We could celebrate and…"<p>

"We both have work," I said. "As does Dad."

He made dismissive sounds. "It's a holiday!" he exclaimed. "I can close up the café for one day, given that my son is engaged."

Mum smiled, indulgently. Trust them, thirty-five years on, to still find each other delightful.

"Well, I still have work. I'm sorry, but…"

"It's fine," said Izzy, leaning against Jim adoringly. "Maybe just us and your parents then? Michael? Peggy?"

They smiled back. "That would be great," said Dad, "wouldn't it Peg?"

Mum's smile had tightened. She glanced at me. "Yes," she said, carefully. Then she took a breath. "Yes," she said with more certainty. "OK. I can do the things I was going to do another day, I suppose. I'll just…" She disappeared into the utility room, no doubt fearing getting behind on her militarily tight laundry schedule. She reappeared. "Fine," she said. "OK."

I smiled at her. She looked resigned, battling pleasure and confusion and complete ignorance of her daughter-in-law to be.

"Well," said Dad, "I'll just go and throw on some clothes. Maybe we could drive down the coast a bit?" He disappeared.

"OK," said Mum again. "Well I'll go and sort a few things out. If you'd like breakfast, do help yourself. I'll just be a few minutes."

Jim made his way over to the teapot and poured a couple of mugs. "Garden?" he asked Izzy, and each with a mug, they strolled out into the garden, oblivious. It only left me and Robbie in the kitchen. He looked distinctly unimpressed.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

He said nothing.

"Tea?"

His reverie was broken. "Sure," he said. "Whatever."

"Are you all right?" I asked again. "You seem…weird."

He shrugged. "It's fine," he said. "I…I'm not sure that I realised…" He looked a little rueful. Then he sat down. "I'm not sure that I realised how different it would be with Izzy and James together, you know?"

I sat down opposite him. "You're lonely?"

"I'm jealous."

"Huh." I smiled. "I'm sure you'll meet someone," I said, determinedly buoyantly.

His dark expression lightened a little. "You think?"

"Sure," I said, blithe and cheery, resolute in my ambition that he should never leer at me again. Fat chance, but it was worth the try. "You never know," I continued. "She might be right under your nose."

"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Sure." I stood up and put the kettle on again, hopeful that he had mentally rekindled a love affair with an ex. "Tea?"

He smiled a little, and I felt a rush of affection for him. Even leery weirdos want companionship. "Sure," he said again, this time without the bare hostility. "That'd be nice."

* * *

><p>With all of the excitement of the morning I had almost forgotten the goings on of the day before, except when I arrived at the estate there was a stark reminder: the bookshop was closed. Doors bolted, lights off, no coffee wafting. I paused in the courtyard and felt again the heavy weight of secrets in my stomach and wished that I didn't know and wouldn't have to face Ellis or Mari. Except then the office door opened and Ellis came out with her mobile jammed between her ear and shoulder and a massive stack of paper in her arms and a harried expression.<p>

"Oh, hang on," she said into the phone and then walked purposely towards me. "You heard?" she asked with absolutely no preamble.

"Mari?" The secret got heavier. "Yeah."

Ellis nodded, distracted. "Could you run the bookshop today?"

"Uh…" Here's the thing. I like reading. I love it. A good science fiction action romp with a heady side of romance novel just sets me up for the evening. Something involving either a) explosions, b) dinosaurs, c) a young impressionable girl who seems to meet countless men through her involvement in homely handicrafts or d) all of the above, can keep me occupied for hours. I even enjoy a late nineteenth century good time. Something with big hair and big dresses and aspiring authors and impossibly lovely men. I do not, however, embrace all books. Certainly not the ones that start grim and end grimmer, consumption and rape and people being hacked into pieces in the tropical jungles. The type where your awareness of the quality of writing is twinned with your horror at a) the topic and b) your ensuing depression. This, unfortunately was Mari's forte. "Well," I started, unsurely, "I guess, maybe…"

"Lou? You still there?" Ellis spoke quickly into her phone. "Cate's doing it." She started to walk back to the office.

"Wait," I called and ran after her. "What about new books? I know nothing about pricing or what things are worth or anything."

Ellis sighed, tried not to look annoyed at my blatant ineptness and said, "wait a sec," into the phone. "Just sell books," she said. "Don't worry about giving recommendations. Anything new, put in the back. Mari will sort it eventually."

"Is she all right?"

Ellis paused for too long. Then she sighed again. "No. But she's hopeful that he'll return and is writing to him so, you know…"

"And are you all right?"

She smiled a little. "I'll be fine."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yep," she said, and walked away, back to the office.

* * *

><p>The bookshop was cool and dim, the blinds down and the fans on, gently circulating the air. The possibility of finding some schlocky romance novel, making myself a coffee and then relocking the doors, from within, was very tempting. It would keep out Jim and Izzy and the madness that was their engagement. It would thankfully keep out Robbie, pathetic lonely letch that he was. Brandon would be kept at bay from yelling at me for something else I'd no doubt done. General Tilney and his ensuing 'talk' would be prevented, no doubt a scathing review of my design skills. Ellis, however, had keys, and Harry would also be kept out and somehow, with so much going on, I wanted to see him. So I left the doors open. The warm morning air barrelled in, and the dust motes in the air lit up as I rolled up the blinds. I did, however, make myself a coffee. I could tell that it was going to be that sort of day.<p>

The morning ambled along, quiet and slow. Old ladies came in, too early for the house, intent on killing time, leafing through old favourites, pointing them out to each other, picking up deeply unsuitable books and then putting them back, glassy eyed. I had settled myself as comfortably as possible on the bar stool behind the till. Mari had a stash of books there, too ratty to sell but too entertaining to simply recycle. I dipped in and out between a preachy ex-Sunday School novel and a racy action thriller. It was a strange combination, but it somehow worked. I knew, from what Mari had said before, that the bookshop really got busy around lunch and into the early afternoon, so I contented myself with a reasonably sleepy morning. That was, until my phone rang.

"_Thanks for this morning."_

I smiled, involuntarily to myself. "Dude. You're engaged."

"_Shut up."_

I frowned. "Jim, you do want to be engaged, don't you? This isn't a massive mistake or something?"

He sighed. "_No, Cate, this is not a mistake."_

"All right," I said. "It's just…you know. You weren't even dating and you barely know her…"

"_I love her."_

That stumped me. "All right then," I managed, finally. "Good for you."

"_Good for me? You're going to include that in your speech?"_

"I have to give a speech? You know how I am about public speaking."

"_You mean terrible?"_

I grimaced ineffectually down the phone line. "Oh, hang on," I said, and tucked the phone under the counter while a nice lady approached with a couple of books. A few minutes later, and a few more pounds in the till, I picked up the phone again. "So," I said. "Any particular reason for this tirade of abuse? I mean, I thought you were all out celebrating your engagement, but if you're bored at all…"

"_We're having dinner with Izzy's parents tonight."_

"OK…"

"_Mum and Dad too."_

I frowned, confused. "Jim, you do know that I can cook, right? I do still work occasionally in our Dad's café. You may have heard of it."

He made dismissive sounds. "_That's slicing and reheating. And I know you can, but Mum had a moment of freaking out and I promised that I'd warn you. Make Brandon take you out."_

"I doubt he will but thanks for that."

Jim laughed. _"Yeah, you're probably right. It's worth a try though. Oh," _he added, more than a mite girlishly, "_get that other guy to take you out."_

"What other guy?"

"_You know," _he said. "_Lover boy."_

"Lover boy?"

"_Friday boy. Tilly? Tibney? Till-bob…"_

"Tilney?"

"_Sure."_

"Shut up."

He snorted. _"Fine. I'll see you later?"_

"Not if I can help it."

He chortled to himself, evidently enjoying how much he had riled me. Then he hung up the phone.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes, a good few transactions and a massively confusing conversation about Noel Streatfield later, I finally picked up my phone again. It had occurred to me that General Tilney wanted to talk to me. Also, that it was potentially my last chance to see Harry. I didn't want us to waste all of the day in some kind of screwball farce as we tried to communicate and failed, miserably, so I had decided: I would phone first, and it would not, under any circumstance, look needy. Brandon and Jim weren't exactly helping with their constant tirade of mockery, but at least I had a new angle by which to roast Jim.<p>

"_Cate,"_ said Harry, answering the phone. _"How are you doing?"_

He sounded a little tense. In fact, more tense than usual when in the company of his father. "Are you all right?" I asked without thinking. "You sound weird."

He laughed, humourlessly. "_Right, yeah…"_

"Harry?"

"_I'll call you back."_ He sounded clipped. Almost angry. The line died, the dead tone rang out and I waited, and worried, and prayed that no one would come in. Finally, a few minutes of blissful, scary silence past, and my ring tone burst into life.

"_I'm sorry," _he said without introduction.

I breathed a sigh of relief. He sounded like himself again, although still a little strained.

"_I sounded crazy, didn't I?"_

"Well…" I started, expansively. "Kind of."

He laughed. _"OK, well. Sorry about that."_

"What's wrong?"

He sighed. _"I was having an 'it's hard to be a vicar and not kick people in the face' moment."_

"One of those..."

He let out a blustery sigh. "_Yeah." _He sighed again. _"It was my brother. Rick plus Dad in a small, confined space…you know."_

"Does not a happy Harry make?"

"_Exactly."_

"Where are you now?"

"_Standing far enough from the car for them to not hear. Nell's filling it up, given that when I asked the others, they both gave me a Henny Penny look."_

"I have no idea what that means."

He laughed. _"Right. Uh…that kind of why-should-I-do-that-for-you look. You know it?"_

"Jim went through an awkward phase when he was in his mid-teens when that was _all_ I got from him."

"_Rick's twenty-seven."_

"Oh."

"_Yeah." _He sighed. _"He's had it really rough recently, and I don't blame him, and I'm trying to cut him a bit of slack but it's hard when he's a massive pain in the ass."_

I laughed. "OK."

"_So,"_ he said with a sigh and a smile starting to be evident in his tone. _"What can I do for you today?"_

"Oh, I just wanted to let you know that I'm working at the bookshop today so I can probably get someone to cover me for a bit at lunch, but that's about it. I'm sorry. I know your Dad wanted to talk and…" I refrained from mentioning how I wanted to hang out with him some more. That, Catherine, would have been lame. I worked it. I rose above it. "You know," I finished.

"_Oh," _he said with delicious disappointment. _"Really?"_

"Yeah," I said, trying to match his disappointment but really, truly, nearly skipping. "Actually, in a way, it's your fault."

"_Really?"_

"Well, no. But your friend Marc? He cleared out and my friend Mari was kind of head over heels for him, and now she doesn't know when he's coming back because he's being a bit elusive, so she's not quite in the state to cope with working today, I think. So I'm in here instead."

"_Huh. Sorry about that." _He sounded like he was smiling. _"If it's any consolation, he could well turn up again. When he gets all about the work, he does become a bit of an ostrich."_

"An ostrich?"

"_Head in the sand. Keep up Morland."_

I laughed. Sycophantically, perhaps, but the easiness with him was kind of brilliant. "Well," I said, recovering myself. "I hope that he does come back."

"_Yeah. Otherwise you're stuck working there forever and I'll never get to see you again."_

Flirting! He was actually flirting.

"_And then how do I get free coffee?"_

"Steal it. It's your only option."

"_Huh. OK." _He sighed. _"Cate, they're ready to go so I have to, you know…"_

"Go?"

"_Right." _He sighed again. _"Think of me, trapped in a car with my brother being exceptionally aggravating and my Dad being…my Dad."_

"I will." And I would. I couldn't very well not think of him.

"_See you soon."_

"OK," I said. "See you then. Bye."

I hung up. I determinedly was not going to linger and coo and be _that_ girl. The soppy simpering face however didn't do much to disprove it. Damn it.

* * *

><p>A couple more hours and lunch swung around and wouldn't you know it but Jim and his entourage arrived: Izzy, clutching his arm, Mum and Dad looking pleased yet confused and somewhere near the border of hysterical giggles, a little boy, an older couple, who managed to look both hostile and frantically interested and, I recognised with a jolt, Fifi Ferrars.<p>

"Why have you brought us in here?" asked the woman. "Honestly, Isabella, you can't be thinking of using this space for the wedding at all."

Of course. A reconnaissance mission.

"It's a bookshop," she continued, her tone dripping with distain.

Fifi waved her hands around. "It could have an old world folksy charm," she said. "Martha has done weddings in places like this, I'm sure."

I nearly swallowed my tongue. Jim shot me a look.

"Penelope, Gerry, Fifi: this is my sister, Cate."

They turned, vaguely, and then all with dawning recognition worked out that I was the girl, previously invisible, behind the counter. Penelope Ferrars suddenly turned on the smile. "Of course," she said. "I can see how much you look like your mother."

Mum and I share absolutely nothing aside from a love of John Inverdale and _One Man and his Dog _on a Sunday evening while eating crumpets. I adore her, and yet we have nothing else in common. I am all Dad. And yet.

"Not many people have said that before," said Mum, slowly.

"Really?" Penelope sounded vague. "Well, I'd think you could be twins." She turned. "Wouldn't you say, Fifi darling?"

Fifi looked up from her Blackberry where she was no doubt trying to find pictures of past Martha Stewart weddings. "Oh, yes," she said. "Twins."

"They're not _very_ alike," Izzy began, but Fifi looked up sharply. "Maybe I just can't see it."

"And you've met my younger two children already, I understand?"

"I've met all your children, Ma'am."

Score. Get in. Super points for me being so polite. She, however, didn't seem to think so. A frown appeared on the perfectly smooth skin of her forehead. "How could that possibly be?"

"Uh," I began, smooth and efficient, "I think, maybe, I met Fifi last week when she visited here…"

Fifi frowned, like her mother. It only lasted for a second. Clearly she had an inner battle of whether she was too important to meet me against whether her mother would think it impolite to deny such a spurious claim. Her face cleared. "Of course," she said. "Cat, was it?"

"Cate."

"Oh."

Mum closed her eyes.

"And Edward?" asked Penelope, icily.

I swallowed. "It must have been about two weeks ago," I said, carefully. "He came down with his friend, Harry, who had been invited by someone else."

"Speak of the devil…" came a voice in the doorway, and I spun, off guard, to find Harry with _his _entourage behind him: Nell smiled, General Tilney looked a little confused, and a perfect stranger looked around with inexpressible distain.

"Hi," I said, heart in mouth, beating like a butterfly. "I didn't expect you so soon."

He smiled. My heart beat faster. I wandered if it was possible to have a heart attack this way. "I did tell you we were on our way," he said. "Two hours ago," he added, looking at his watch. "We should have been here a while back but there were a few breaks on the way." He widened his eyes. Clearly he had only just succeeded in not strangling his brother.

"Cat?"

I turned. Penelope was still standing with her hand on her hip. "You were about to tell me how you had met my son."

"Yes," I said. "It was Harry, here." I pushed him forward. "He knows Ed."

"Edward."

"Right."

Harry smiled. "Mrs Ferrars. How nice to see you again."

Vicars aren't supposed to lie. This is something I know.

Her smile was fake and tight. She extended a well-manicured hand out to him. "But of course," she said. "Harry."

"I wasn't really thinking of using the bookshop," put in Izzy, at last. "I thought maybe the garden?"

Penelope wheeled around. "Of course you weren't," she said. "I've never even seen you with a book."

Izzy opened her mouth, then closed it. Jim, gallant boy that he is, pulled her in close to him, his arm around her. She glanced up at him, then around at us. Her gaze lingered over my shoulder and I turned, a second later, to see that the disdainful dude was right there, looking right back at her.

"Well," said Dad, clapping his hands. "Lunch? Cate, you're joining us, aren't you?"

I smiled back at him. "I'd need someone to cover the bookshop, and I need to talk to the Tilneys…"

"Enough said sweetheart," he said, kissed my forehead, then strolled out into the sunshine. "Come along," he boomed. "This way."

I loved him then. I loved him even more a second later when the Ferrars' all trailed out after him. Jim shot me another look, and Mum smirked, and then they disappeared off. I sighed.

"Miss Morland, I think that we should eat now as well," said the General, "and I wouldn't want to interfere with the delicate running of such a well-managed business as this."

"Thank you."

He nodded. "We shall eat, and meet with you later, perhaps when you are less busy?"

"That would be ideal."

"Perfect," he said, smiled a little somewhere around his left eye, then walked out. "Come along Eleanor," he said. "Frederick…"

Disdainful dude, potentially called Frederick, looked after his father then back at Harry. "I really have to spend all day with him?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry.

He sighed. "I'll end up jamming my stick through his eye," he muttered, then limped off.

* * *

><p>Harry sighed and sagged against the wall. We were alone. He grinned. "Hi."<p>

"Hi yourself."

"You appear to have groupies."

"You can speak. I've never seen you without your support act."

He stood up, walked across and then sunk into an armchair with a sigh. "No band has ever had such an unwieldy entourage."

"I hear you."

He smiled.

"So. That's your brother."

"Charming, isn't he?" He smiled again.

"Like Santa and the Easter Bunny combined."

He sighed. "If it's any consolation, he actually did used to be just about that fun."

"And why would it be any consolation?"

"Proactive consolation, ready for the ass that he _will_ be."

"So what happened?"

The look of lingering sadness changed gear into vague shiftiness. "Oh, you know…"

"No…"

He smiled a little. "Life," he said. "Various circumstances."

I smiled back. "Well that is specific!"

"Sorry," he smiled. "It's not mine to tell. Maybe…" He paused and looked thoughtful. "Maybe one day."

"If I get security clearance?"

He shook his head to himself, rueful, almost.

After a moment of silence, I finally said, "shouldn't you be at lunch?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Bored of me already?" he asked, eyes closed.

"Pretty much."

He cracked an eye and grinned. "Liar. I'm fascinating."

I laughed, and tried to make it sound derisive and not too sycophantic. I'm not sure that I succeeded.

He sat up. "No, look," he said, "I actually thought I should warn you about what Dad's going to say. He's got a bad habit of thinking about something for a month, then telling everyone else and giving them five minutes to get to where he took all that time…you know."

"OK…?" I said, slowly. Wariness was my watch-word. So Gil Grissom it was insane.

"He's going to offer you a job."

"What?"

He smiled a little. "Yeah. He wants the gardens redesigned."

"Gardens?"

"The space outside a house?" he said, slowly.

"I know what a…" I said, dismissively, giving the sentence up. "He wants me?"

He smiled. "Yep."

"Why?"

His smile softened. "Because you've done such a horrible job here."

"Right…wait. What?"

He stood up. "Cate, these gardens are extraordinary. I told him that much when I went home after seeing them once. I told him that they were just what he had been looking for. He came back with me, has spent several days now stalking around here and terrifying all your gardeners…"

"I had heard that…"

"…and now he has finally decided what I could have told him to do a week ago, and he wants you."

I was dumbfounded. There was a definite ringing in my ears. "Big?"

He perched against the back of the armchair, in front of me, and smiled gently. "Lost the ability to talk in full sentences?"

"Harry…"

"Forty-two acres. It's largely around ruins, some ancient park-land, a lot of woods, a lake."

"You never said…"

"I'm pretty sure I told you that he had a massive garden."

I breathed heavily. "He wants me to design it?"

He nodded. "Wrangle with the old plans, put in some new ideas, bring her back to her once famous beauty."

I closed my eyes. "And where is this?"

"About two and a half hours north. About ten miles down the coast from Lynmouth."

I whistled. "That's going to be one heck of a commute."

He grinned. "He intends to offer you a room so that you don't spend five hours in your car every day."

I nodded slowly, distracted. "I don't drive," I said, "but OK."

"OK like, 'that's a good idea' or OK like 'I'll come and work for your Dad'?"

It was only afterwards that I remembered (or maybe hoped in an imaginative sort of fashion) that he looked a little nervous. Apprehensive anticipation laced his face.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

"Harry!"

"Sorry." He grinned and stood up. "I'm going to go and have lunch. You stay and think it over. Try and look surprised," he added. Then he was gone.

* * *

><p>I felt sick. Sick and ill, nervous, jittery, stomach of butterflies, head swimming. If hadn't known better I would have been convinced that I was dying, but to die on the same day as being offered a job at the house of the guy who I hoped…well, wondered. Pondered. Vaguely thought about kissing occasionally. Anyway, to die on that same day would have been unthinkable. Mari had shown up soon after lunch looking a little pale but certainly determined.<p>

"Are you all right?" I had asked, and then realised that, of course, she wasn't and I mentally kicked myself. "Sorry, I…"

"It's fine," she had said. "I'm fine. He's not dead. He's not gone forever. I've just got to get over being a bit disappointed that he didn't propose." She screwed up her face and looked at me, ruefully. "I just wish I hadn't told so many people what I thought would happen."

"If it's any consolation," I had said, "we all thought it. Not just you."

"Everyone?"

Brandon? Was she fishing to know about Brandon? "Uh…you know. Most people. Some people. I don't know."

She frowned. "OK. I wasn't going to torture the information out of you, you know."

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising. I'm the one who let you down this morning, though I would have been here had Ellis not taken it upon herself to turn off my alarm." She sighed and wandered over to the counter, flicking through the notes of the days purchases. "Apparently I needed my sleep," she said, tartly.

"She just wants the best for you."

"I know. And she certainly thinks that she knows it." She had looked up at that, and smiled. "Maybe I should let her treat me like an invalid. Then she'll pass on all the cake Brandon gives her to me."

"Oh, he's massively over catering at the moment any way," I said. "Just go and ask for old stuff at the end of the day. He's rolling in it."

She smiled. "OK." Then she made shooing gestures. "You go and have lunch, or do what you should have been doing or something. I'm fine here."

I must have looked sceptical because she continued. "I _am_. I'm fine. Come back and see me later. I'll be skipping and singing."

* * *

><p>A few hours later she was sitting, limply, reading Hardy, but that's beside the point. I left, and walked up towards the boat-house hoping that I wouldn't, at any given point, throw up. Brandon met me at the door, cup of coffee in hand.<p>

"You all right?" he asked. "You look horrible."

"I'm fine," I quavered. "Just hot. Or something." I spied Harry over his shoulder and felt even more sick.

Brandon frowned at what must have been a deepening of the olive shade gracing my face, turned, and looked back through the boat-house. "Ah," he said, in a knowing, patronising sort of tone. "Hot," he said. "Warm, maybe."

"What?"

He turned back, grinning. "For his form." He cackled. "Man…" he breathed, wiping his eyes.

I vented a little of my jitteriness by smacking him upside the head. It helped. Then I pulled myself together and walked in the door, thankfully, this time, not walking straight into the door. It has been known.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much, gentle readers, for your reviews. I am massively encouraged. If I hadn't been working like a whirlwind recently, I would have channelled that encouragement into writing. As it is, I'm posting instead. And <strong>wyread, **she'll get to the Abbey very soon. Hopefully. As soon as the work eases up a little.**

Reading this through, I realised at the part about Cate's reading preferences that I had some very specific books in mind. They were a) **The Pelican Brief** by John Grisham (Awesome. Read it. Now.), b) **Jurassic Park** and **The Lost World** by Michael Crichton (Honestly much more horrifying that the films. Especially The Lost World. But so worth it. I love me some dinosaurs.), c) The complete works of Katie Fforde, specifically, **Highland Fling** and **Stately Pursuits** (I can't genuinely recommend these, but they have passed a long sunny day on holiday admirably.) and d) of course, **Anne of Green Gables, Anne of the Island **&** Anne of Ingleside** by L.M. Montgomery (there are others but I don't like them as much. These ones, the last two specifically, involve more smooching. So sue me.) and **Little Women, Good Wives, Little Men** & **Jo's Boys** (look out for Dan. I love Dan) by Louisa M. Alcott, and pretty much anything else written by her. Especially **Eight Cousins** and **Rose in Bloom**. And **The Inheritance** (which I adore. It's like The Mysteries of Udolpho. Ridiculous. And hilarious.). I also made a vague reference to Noel Streatfeild. I love her. **Ballet Shoes, Curtain Up, The Painted Garden, **and **The Vicarage Family** particularly.

Oh, and the other books? The good, worthy, truly horrifying ones? Specifically,** Mr Pip** by Lloyd Jones. Look, I'm sure it's great. The writing is, I have no doubt, exceptional. But I didn't really notice as I was too busy being absolutely horrified at what was going on. Maybe I'm a little delicate. Maybe I need to toughen up. I'd just rather read **What Katy Did**. Or, more specifically, **What Katy Did Next.** Which I discovered, last week, has a post-it in the really good bit. Because that's how I roll.

And as always, I do not own **Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility **or the entire **CSI** franchise. Because if I did, CSI Miami would have been axed years ago. And Horatio Caine would have died in a very definite, final sort of fashion. Never. To. Return.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Thinking about it later, because, frankly, I was far too weirded out at the time to really notice, stepping into the boathouse presented me with a beautiful tableaux of the craziness of family life. Or at least, a normal family. Mine would probably have been indulging in some sort of naked game, in the dark, but that's just us. General Tilney, as he would always be (such men do not have first names) was sitting near his oldest son, positioned next to him, proud and clearly lecturing his younger two children on something to do with their inadequacies next to their surlier, more disdainful brother. He, at that moment, was blatantly not listening, and was instead watching out of the windows to where my family still sat with the Ferrars, all still dressed, thankfully. Said older brother (potentially Frederick) looked bored. Even more bored than Harry, who clearly was over being told how much better his uninterested brother was than him. He exchanged a long look with Eleanor, who looked uncomfortably between them all, until she saw me, her face changed, and she leaped up. Damn it. I should have commandoed in.

"Cate!" she said. "At last."

"Sorry," I said, walking as if to the gallows. Then I saw Harry, smiling furtively, and nearly skipped. I held it together. Just. "Mari only just turned up to relieve me of the shop."

"It's quite all right," said the General, standing up and frowning at Harry until he, too, stood. The older brother, apparently, was let off. "You are a credit to this establishment that you do not simply leave at a moment's whim."

"Thank you."

Harry grinned. "Can I get you anything?"

"Oh, have you eaten?" chimed in Eleanor. "You must be starving."

"I'm fine, I…"

"Coffee?" asked Harry.

"Cake," said Eleanor. "Or something more substantial? Salad? A sandwich?"

I looked back at her, blank. "Uh…"

"I'll get you coffee," said Harry and he disappeared off to the counter.

"Stop acting like damned fools for a moment, will you?" barked the General and Eleanor, who had been hovering a little, sat. Harry reappeared at my elbow seconds later and put the coffee on the table. "Sit," repeated the General. "Honestly," he breathed out, with a rueful glance at his eldest, who deliberately did not return it. "I'm sorry, Catherine."

"It's fine."

He raised bushy eyebrows. "Well…" He cleared his throat. He stared down his youngest two children. Then he sighed. "I believe," he began, "that you haven't met my oldest son. Frederick."

Frederick Tilney, upon closer inspection, was very like his brother, although built a little like a truck. He held out a ham-sized hand, slowly, reluctantly even, and with a certain lethargy. His gaze flickered over me and he raised his eyebrows in greeting. Eyebrows over dark, shadowed eyes. He totally looked like a killer. Not that I wanted to judge him. Exactly. Gingerly, I took his hand. It was a short shake. Perfunctory. He pulled back and settled down having barely made eye contact or rearranged his features. Then he glanced back at Izzy through the windows.

"Frederick has had to stop work," said General Tilney, "for a while."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, not being sure if that was the correct response. Frederick's gaze slid back to me, and he blinked.

"It's fine," he said, emotionless.

"We'll have him back to health in no time," said the General buoyantly. "There's nothing like sea air to cure all ills."

"And keeping busy," muttered Frederick. "And total crushing denial…"

"Rick…"

"What was that?" asked the General in stentorian tones with a steely glare at Harry. "What did you say?"

"Nothing of any importance, Dad. Why don't you tell Cate why you've got her here?"

General Tilney flared his nostrils, like a bull about to rampage. I squirmed.

"Yes," he said, eventually, having stared down his youngest son. "Catherine." He turned to me and suddenly, smiled. It looked like it might have been something of an effort. It was all teeth. "I wondered if you were free to discuss work."

"Free now or free generally? Contractually? Literally?" I couldn't stop.

Harry grinned.

"I meant," said General Tilney, his tone stern, "generally. And contractually, I suppose."

I took a steadying sip of coffee. Then, "reasonably. There's more design work to do here, and a little supervision to do on the plans that are in the works, but there isn't much of a schedule, so it can fit around other shorter term projects. And I'm not contracted in such a way as to tie me up." I felt smart. Smart, and smooth. It came out the way I had semi-planned it. I caught Harry's eye and he grinned again, behind his own drink.

"Good," said the General. "Then I would be prepared to offer you a job at Northanger Abbey."

* * *

><p>My second sip of coffee turned into an accidental gulp, thanks to the casual name-dropping. Far too much coffee tried to have itself swallowed, all at once. En masse, it was suddenly a lot hotter. I gulped, coughed, and my eyes watered. Eleanor leaned forward, concerned, thrusting a paper napkin into my hands. Harry bit back another grin, and pushed a glass of water across the table. Frederick raised eyebrows again, not unlike his father. The General, however, looked touched, as if my surprise and resultant tears were a sign of my innate gratitude.<p>

"I didn't mean to surprise you," he said, leaning forward, a rough hand on my hand. "Would you like to be left alone?"

I coughed. Again. "No," I said, weakly. "It's fine. I just…uh…you know…an _abbey_." I gave Harry a hard look. Yet again, he smiled, blithely.

The General appeared to preen. "Well," he said, "it's not much. The old Infirmary, really. The bulk of the abbey stands on land which now belongs to _English Heritage_," he said, ending with twist of disdain. "We have a mere forty-two acres, a few ruined walls, a small lake, some trees."

"OK," I said, sounding neither suave nor controlled. Small. I sounded tiny.

"It just needs some love and attention, Cate," said Harry. "Not a total redesign."

"Not at all," said the General. "That's why I'm asking you, Catherine. You have displayed an exceptionally mature ability to take that which is good in the old, and mould it to something that suits the new. I have been most impressed. And you have come with excellent recommendations."

"I have?" I asked, sounding even smaller. An Anchiornis next to a Brachiosaurus. Or whatever they call them now. Giraffe Brachio or something. It was probably the same guy who got Pluto cut who changed the Brachiosaurus. I loved Pluto. Poor Pluto. I blinked. Then I pulled myself together. Just.

"Yes," he said. "I naturally wouldn't employ you without some notion of your reputation."

Of course. "Thank you." I think. Or was that a smack-down? Was he pulling a full on Sara Sidle on me? Was I getting horribly distracted at exactly the wrong time? Maybe, I concluded, and yes. Definitely.

The General stood up, suddenly. Or maybe not suddenly, given that I was massively preoccupied thinking about dinosaurs, Pluto, and _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. _And Nick Stokes. Anyway, I too, stood.

"I'll give you some time to think about it," he said. "Henry knows all of the particulars of the job, so he can fill you in should you have any questions. I believe you have his phone number?"

Having rambled on speaker phone earlier to them all, I agreed that, yes, I did.

"Perfect. I hope to hear from you soon." Then he shrugged his suit jacket on. "I will now go and make the most of our last day here, seeing some more of these beautiful gardens. Will any of you join me?"

His children, to whom the question was levelled, all took a second to answer.

"I should stay and tell Cate a little more about the job," said Harry, his smile blithe once more. I bit back my glee.

"Frederick? You haven't seen the gardens properly yet."

"I can't really walk," he replied, bitterness stinging his tone. He barely looked up.

The General inclined his head. "Fine. Eleanor?"

"It's a bit hot, Dad."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," she said, resigned. "I'll come."

She got up slowly. The General nodded to me, then strode out of the boathouse.

"Please, please come to Northanger," said Eleanor, hurriedly. "It would be so nice."

"Needy, much?" drawled Frederick.

She rolled her eyes at him, smiled at me, and then hurried out after her father.

"So," said Harry. "The job."

"You're actually going to talk about that?" asked Frederick, dumbfounded. "I thought…never mind." He drew a hand across his face. "I'm not quite up to my usual…" He trailed off, blinking heavily. "It's too damn hot in here." He stood, awkwardly, fumbling for his stick. "I'll go out onto the deck. You can talk about whatever the hell you want to talk about." With that, he limped off, through the doors, and out to the far end of the deck.

* * *

><p>It was like a vacuum. All the air rushed back in, and I gasped. I actually gasped.<p>

"See, that's the normal reaction to my family," said Harry. "Horror. Actual horrific horror."

"They're not that bad."

He gave me a look. "They really are."

"No…"

"I'll admit," he said, leaning forward, "that individually, they're all right. You can deal with them. Work with them. En masse, however." He sighed, gustily. "It's like the hardest jigsaw in all the world. Those puzzle ball things, you know? Or those baked bean jigsaws. My family is a 3D baked bean puzzle ball jigsaw."

"OK?"

He rested his elbows on the table, his chin between his palms, his fingers flat against his face, and sighed. "I'd understand if you didn't want to come to Northanger."

"Northanger _what_, exactly?"

He smiled, ruefully. "I forgot to tell you that part, did I?"

"You live in an _abbey_."

"_I_ don't. I live in a scuzzy little flat in Bristol. With another guy."

"Quite the bromance you have going on there, my friend."

He grinned. "If you actually want this job, never use that word in front of my Father."

"He'd fire me?"

"Or kill you. One or the other. Also, sporks, Wikipedia and brunch are not subjects to bring up with him."

"Hates a blended word that much?"

"Rick has started a particularly cruel tradition of playing Dom Pérignpong every Christmas, just to mess with Dad's head."

"Do I even want to know?"

He grinned. "You try and throw a ping-pong ball into a glass of champagne?"

"This is a game for the upper-classes, is it?"

"Only those who own abbeys."

"Hey!"

He grinned. "I'll teach you. It's easy. As long as you can throw."

"I can throw."

"Good." He smiled, easily. "What do you think?"

"Of your playing Dom Pérignpong?"

"Of the job."

"How far away is it?"

He screwed up his face. "About two and half hours on a good day. And if you really put your foot down. Nearer to three otherwise."

I blew out a sigh. "One hell of a commute."

He smiled. "There's room for you to stay, should you want to."

"How long would it take for me to get home?"

He frowned. "I just said…"

"I meant not expecting someone to drive me. Trains. Buses."

He screwed up his face again. Like an adorable walnut. "I don't know," he said. "Three hours? As you said, one hell of a commute."

"I wouldn't need to go home that often, but I should be available occasionally. You know. Barton gardens and…you know."

He smiled. "Yeah."

"And staying wouldn't put people out?"

He grimaced. "Knowing Dad, your pay will probably reflect any liberties taken."

"He'll dock my rent out of my pay?"

"Is that all right?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I'd have had to find somewhere to live otherwise."

"And Nell's there most of the time. She'd look after you."

I nodded.

"And I'd come down every now and then."

I smiled. I couldn't help it. Sycophant. "Really?"

"What's two hours, bombing down the M5?"

"Especially when your sister cooks for you."

"And does my laundry."

"Harry!"

"I'm inept. It's adorable."

"Really?"

"So I've been told."

I snorted. He grinned.

"I have Mondays off, normally. I come home. Hang out with Nell. Watch _University Challenge_. You know."

"Get your pants folded."

"Exactly. So."

So, what?" I asked.

"You going to take it?"

He looked a little hopeful. It made me hopeful. And not just a little giddy. "I need to talk it over with the parents. Have a think. Chat to Ellis. Check she isn't going to whip out a contract that I accidentally signed when asleep. Or bored."

"OK," he said, simply.

"OK."

* * *

><p>"Oh Cate!"<p>

"You don't need to say it like _that, _Mum," said Brandon. "It's not like he proposed after only knowing her for two weeks. Only an idiot would do that. Oh wait…" He swung round to Jim.

"Oh, you're so clever. It's like you're Jeremy Paxman and Jeremy Vine all wrapped up together. You're Jeremy Paxvine."

Brandon shrugged at Jim. "Maybe I am."

"Maybe you're an idiot."

"Maybe you are."

"Boys!" said Mum. "Honestly. This is exhausting. You wouldn't believe that you're both nearly in your thirties."

"Brandon _is_ in his thirties," I pointed out, helpfully. "And Jim is next week."

"Really?"

"Yep," said Jim, leaning back in his chair. "Sorry, Mum."

"You're going to be thirty?"

"It's true."

"How awful!"

"Peg, it's not that bad," attempted Dad.

"I have two sons in their thirties, and a daughter who's about to run halfway across the country to design some complete stranger's garden. Not that I'm not thrilled, darling, you know that, but it's just so far."

"And the boys are so old," I added.

"Hey!"

"Exactly," she continued. "But," she said, after pausing a second, "it's a good opportunity, isn't it?"

"I think so."

"It sounds so," said Dad, "and it's an amazing coup to get two such prestigious jobs one after another. Not," he added, "that I'm surprised that they want you."

"Thanks."

Brandon and Jim both made faces at me. Bored, unimpressed faces, such that seven year olds would favour. I rose above it, and made a mental note to wedgy them later.

"And you'll be safe?" asked Mum. "I can buy you some kind of whistle?"

Brandon choked in his tea. "There is no one," he said, wheezing a little, "and I mean _no one_, who needs a personal attack alarm less that Cate."

"Because she's so ugly that no one would go near her, or because of the smell?"

"James!"

Brandon smirked at me. "Because she already carries about seven."

"That's not true!"

"No?"

OK, so it was true. Kind of. "I carry three. I own eight."

"Cate! Who needs three alarms?"

I smiled at Dad. I'll admit, it was a smile of slight condescension, because, and I mean, honestly: "one in my bag, one in my pocket should the one in the bag be less easily whipped out, and an extra one in my bag should one of the others fail." Obviously.

"And the five others?" asked Dad, warily.

"Spares. Rejects. Gifts to foolishly reckless friends."

Mum blinked. "Well, I'm glad you're cautious."

"This is the girl who, the day after she read 'Notes from a Rapist', cut off her waist-length hair."

"It was alarming reading," I said. "And I like my hair short because, if nothing else, it takes three minutes to wash."

Brandon smirked again. "You're such a paranoid hypochondriac."

"Think of it as a delightful quirk."

"No." He grinned.

"You're such a total…"

"Hmm?"

"Children…" said Dad, warningly. "Don't make me tell your mother."

"She's sitting right there."

He shrugged. "When I tell her, though, it's much worse. Like unleashing a hell hound or something. A marmalade-making Cerberus."

Mum raised an eyebrow. Then she shrugged. "He's right," she said. "I really am."

* * *

><p>Almost as soon as I walked into her office, Ellis was pressing brownies on me.<p>

"Please," she said. "Brandon left them here this morning and I've already eaten about seven of them."

"You want me to take them away or just save you from one?"

Her smile was rueful. "One. No, all of them. No. I don't know." She took them back. "They are good."

"Don't I know it." I leaned across and fished one out of the box whilst she continued her 'to brownie, or not to brownie' monologue. "Are you all right?"

She looked back up, another brownie in hand, and sighed. "Yes. Fine. Things are just a little more stressful here than they had been. You know. Work. The house. The gardens."

"Mari?"

She winced, closing one eye. "Yes. Mari." She leaned on her hand briefly, staring at nothing in particular. "What do I do about that?" she asked. "I mean, and no offense here, I've got used to talking to Brandon about this sort of thing, but that's weird, right? And mean?"

"Probably," I murmured, through a brownie.

"Marc's gone, for an undefined amount of time, with no guarantees of coming back, and there's Mari, and do I tell her to move on, or do I applaud her faithfulness? I mean, she loves him, and she wants to wait, right? Do I encourage that?"

Wow. "Uh, Ellis? No offense here either, of course, but you realise that this is the most you've ever said to me at one go? And certainly the most personal stuff that you've ever laid bare. I mean," I continued, "I'll help how I can, but you're right that really, this isn't my forte. I'm pretty sure this requires someone with qualifications and, like, a really big sofa."

"A sofa?"

"For lying on."

She nodded and reached for another brownie. "Right. I'm sorry. I'm just a little frazzled. More frazzled. Than usual."

"Any other reasons?" I asked, leaning forward in what I hoped was a very nonchalant fashion. "Anything to do with, I don't know, a guy?"

Had she been a tortoise, her head and hands would have retracted and disappeared inside her shell. As it was, she froze, pursed her lips, then shrugged. "It's nothing. There is nothing to tell. I'm just frazzled. A good cup of coffee and a run will do me wonders." She began shuffling through papers, pushing brownie remnants aside. Our brief honesty-exchange had ended. Clearly I had crossed the line which appeared to move wildly with her mood: having swung dangerously near 'the truth' it had settled back to happy impersonal centre ground, and Ellis was once more in control. She looked up again. "I'm sorry," she said. "Was there a reason that you came in?"

"Other than eating your brownies?" I said, testing the waters that had, suddenly, become a little chilly.

She smiled. So not quite so chilly. "Right."

I sighed. "I've been offered a job."

"What?"

"Yep. A large garden on the north coast needs sorting out. Some design, some management. A lot of love."

"Is this the guy who has been around this week?"

"Harry? Yes, in a way. It's his family's garden. His Dad's house."

"And Harry is, uh…" She floundered.

"Ed's room-mate?"

"Right." She automatically winced a little. This was getting ridiculous. I couldn't mention Harry, let alone Ed, or, it appeared, men in general.

"Look," I said, cutting as cleanly as possible to the quick. "It's nothing to do with Ed. I'm sorry I asked." She waved it away, carefully looking as if it was nothing. Except it still clearly was. "Anyway," I continued, "it's the job. Not these stupid boys."

A smile twitched. "Right."

"There'd need to be a serious review of the gardens as they are now, research, discussions, plans drawn up, and I suspect some supervision of the carrying out of the plans, but it can fit around stuff here, I'm sure, because I was here first. There's more to do here, I know, and you come first."

She looked a little winded. Almost teary. "Thank you," she said, eventually, slowly. Then, "you're the best designer we could have hoped for. It's not surprising that someone snapped you up."

Ellis-no-emotions-heart-locked-behind-ten-feet-of-steel-Dashwood was nearly crying because I had said I would work around the work at Barton. This was unheard of. And weird. And probably due to a busy day and a long, hot summer, and some serious emotions flying around, but it made me feel suddenly emotional myself, like Northanger was a thousand miles from Barton, and I'd be further than ever from my life. "I should be thanking you," I said. Holding it together. Just. "You gave me this gig with little more than a recommendation from Tom."

"And he was desperate enough to recommend any old joker," she said, smiling.

"Exactly. I'm really grateful, Ellis."

She nodded. "Well you've done an excellent job. And of course we'll work it all out so you can take this job. I'd be grateful if you could stay long enough for Tom to come back from honeymoon and for sorting out this next phase of the garden re-order, but come September, I can't see why you shouldn't start this new job."

"Of course," I said, feeling like a) I was ridiculously grateful, and b) it would be two months until I might realistically have a good reason to see Harry again, but at least c) I would see him again. In two months. Probably. "Thank you," I said, emotions warring. "Uh, if you want to talk about Brandon and Mari some time, I'm happy to thrash things through. I mean, I'm no psychologist…"

She shrugged. "It's none of my business, really."

"You're a worried older sister. I'm a worried younger sister. We make it our business."

She smiled. "That sounds like something Mari would say."

"She has had a profoundly bad influence on me."

"Clearly."

I stood up. "Thanks Ellis."

"Anytime."

I left then, careful to preserve the delicate intricacy that was my relationship with Ellis Dashwood. Tricksy as a hobbit. Guarded as a dwarf. Cracked as only Sméagol could be.

* * *

><p>"You're going to accept it?"<p>

Brandon pushed a cup of tea at me, across the counter-top.

"I think so."

He nodded. "You should. It's good. Have you seen contracts?"

I took a sip. "Harry sent some more information through. Cliff suggested that I sent it straight on to Tessa to check it all out. Make sure I wasn't being sold into slavery."

Brandon shrugged. "Who'd want you? You'd be rubbish."

"Thanks."

He shrugged again. "It's true."

"Are you all right?"

He gave me a hard look. "I'm fine," he said, slowly. Deliberately.

"Have you talked to…"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"Probably. Eventually."

"Brandon…"

"Frankly, if taking the job means that we don't have to keep having this conversation, then I'll drive you there myself."

"What would we talk about while we were driving?"

He gave me a long look.

"OK," I said. "I'll stop asking. How's Beth?"

"You think I don't realise that this'll lead back to the original conversation?"

"I was hoping you were stupid enough not to notice."

He swallowed a smile. "She's fine," he said. "Kit's fine. Growing while you watch."

"Has she heard from Marc?"

"Cate!"

"Sorry. I just…"

He sighed. "No. I don't think so. But I don't think she was either expecting to or planning on telling me if she had."

"Right." I sighed and took another sip of my tea. "You know, there's quite a lot going on here, for such a boring place."

He gave me a long look and slowly, like the dawn, a smile emerged. "You're such a weirdo."

"It's charming."

"It's concerning."

* * *

><p>I wrote, formally. Harry already knew my answer, but was even more impressed to discover how well I had read his father.<p>

"I have some headed, embossed paper," I said, that night. "You think I should write it on that?"

"_Seriously," _he said, slightly crackly down the phone lines. _"You are very good at this. Had you considered looking into some form of espionage?"_

"Of course," I said, naturally. "Who hasn't?"

"_I think it might be Ian Fleming's fault."_

"Or whoever put Daniel Craig in that fitted suit in _Casino Royale."_

"_I can't say that he really does it for me."_

"That's probably a good thing," I said, before realising what I had said. And how much I meant it. Because really. Had Harry been turned on by Daniel Craig in his suit, I probably would have cried at this point. Which was ridiculous. Because we had still barely spent more than a day together cumulatively. But still.

"_Probably,"_ he said, and there was a smile in his voice, and the bunnies crowded into my head.

"So the paper?"

"_Definitely. What's your handwriting like?"_

"Readable. You think I should hand-write it?"

"_He's a techno-phobe. Even the type-writer is modern and dangerous."_

I smiled. "I'll go and crack out my Parker pen."

"_Good girl."_

My heart flipped.

"_You don't drive, right?" _he asked.

"I think I'd be too dangerous."

He laughed. _"I'm pencilling in to come and pick you up, the second Monday of September. Is that all right with you?"_

Wrong-footed, I stumbled. "Of course it is," I garbled, "but you don't have to do that."

"_I know," _he said, mildly, _"but your family is really busy, and you don't want to be carting all of your possessions on the train, and I have a day off then. With nothing planned. It seems perfect. Mean-to-be."_

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes?"_

"Harry!"

"_It's fine," _he said. _"Honestly. It's a pleasure."_

"You're really sure?"

"_You want evidence?"_

"You _have _evidence?"

"_I could send you some kind of signed note?"_

"I do like evidence. It's all very _CSI._"

"_Murderous and horrific?"_

"I was thinking more about the fingerprints and the mysterious machines and that weird library thing with the robot."

He laughed. _"I don't really watch it,"_ he said. "_I'll take your word for it."_

"You should," I replied. "It's entertaining." A vision flashed in front of my eyes of watching it. With him. Eating popcorn. Laughing. Getting grossed out. Laughing some more. I tried to squash it, but it was very persistent.

"_Life's grim enough already," _he said, and the vision faded a little.

"Right."

He paused. _"Sorry," _he said. "_Did I just…I was a bit crushing, and I've never really tried it. Maybe it's more entertaining than I think."_

"I think it is," I said, slowly, "reasonably."

"_Then maybe you can educate me."_

The vision returned. "Maybe I will." I sighed, happy. "So," I said. "How was the drive back to Plymouth?"

"_Oh, Cate." _He groaned. _"How long have you got?"_

* * *

><p>I decided to wait until we were in a public place before telling Izzy and Robbie about the job. Somehow, other people and the niceties of polite society made me think that they might be dissuaded from killing me. Or having my flogged. Or insisting that now was a good time to lose my virginity. Or something. Anyway, we went out for drinks. They were complaining that they hadn't seen me for days, which was fair enough. Since I had been avoiding them. It was a gorgeous evening. Clear and still warm, a tinge of pink in the sky as the sun passed lower onto the horizon. There was a picnic-bench at the edge of the garden with a spectacular view down over the beach. We sat, drinks in hand, and I launched in before a more dangerous topic could begin, with, "how are the wedding plans coming?"<p>

"Awful," said Izzy. "Truly, crappily, dreadful."

"They aren't that bad," said Jim, smiling at Izzy, benignly.

She turned to me. "Your parents," she said, edged with disdain, "don't think we should get married."

"At all? I hadn't heard…"

"This year," said Jim. "It's just this year, Izzy. They think we should wait a little bit."

"Why?" she said, petulantly. "I want to marry you."

He smiled, slowly. "And I want to marry you," he said.

"Then what's the problem?" asked Robbie, clearly about as bored as I already was.

"They've known each other for less than a month," I said.

"So?"

"So it's not very long."

He gave me an unfathomable look. "Sometimes," he said, with a very Zorro-esque air of mystery, "you don't need very long."

"Exactly," said Izzy. "It's ridiculous."

"They're just looking out for us," said Jim.

"They're trying to stop us. They don't like me."

"They do!"

"Your brother doesn't."

Jim shot me a look. I certainly hadn't said anything. "Oh, he doesn't like anyone," I said. "He'll come around."

"He doesn't like me?" she wailed.

I sighed. Maybe this wasn't such a safe topic. "He _really_ doesn't like anyone. Seriously, Izzy, don't worry about it."

"He likes Ellie. _Really _likes her," said Robbie, mysteriously. I was started to expect a rapier and a cape.

"They're friends…" said Jim.

"I've heard that it's more than that."

I didn't really want to bring Mari into it. Or their own brother, for that matter. But gossip is gossip. And evidence is imperative. "Where have you heard that from?"

Robbie sighed, as if giving up witnesses went against his code, but for me, this once, he'd do it. "John."

"Who's John?"

He frowned. Like I'm supposed to remember his every word? Or listen when he talks? OK, I probably should. Just for Gil Grissom's sake.

"My brother-in-law. He's Ellie's step-brother, I think."

"And he thinks that they're madly in love?"

"He saw a spark."

Jim caught my eye again and grimaced a little. Then, "I'm not sure it's much more than just that," he said. "They're friends. Really good friends. No passion. No flames, as it were."

Robbie smiled, almost to himself. "You'll see," he said. "A spark always catches."

"It did for us," said Izzy, sidling closer to Jim.

"But always?" I questioned, thinking of the thousand or so real-life examples that rose straight to mind.

"Always," said Robbie, with another unfathomable look. A long, slightly uncomfortable look.

"So," I said, breaking the silence. "I have some news."

* * *

><p>Izzy had been a little stinging. "I can't believe you'd be so selfish," she said, once the boys had gone to get more drinks.<p>

"Selfish? What are talking about? It's a job. I can't turn it down. I can help you plan your wedding still, if that's an issue…"

"Not for me," she said, looking incredulous. "Robbie."

"What about Robbie?"

"He's in love with you!"

I was pretty sure that he was more in love with himself, but it didn't appear to be the time. "He's not. Really, Izzy. You're mistaken."

She leaned forward. "You're so blind. A spark's a spark Cate. You two are fiery."

Honesty, I decided, was the best policy. "But we don't really get on."

She waved it away. "You rub each other up the wrong way. It'll make for amazing sex, later on."

I blushed. I couldn't help it. "I'm not sure that that's really an issue right now," I mumbled, aware that there were people nearby. Probably listening. And ready to report back that Peggy Morland's youngest was out discussing sex. Loudly.

"It's _always_ an issue," she said, expertly.

I slumped. It made me wish my hair was longer, just so that I could hide behind it. I used my hands instead. "Can we talk about this some other time?" I said, between my fingers.

"What, after you've left Robbie broken hearted? Don't screw this up, Cate."

"But there's nothing to screw up. We're not a couple. He's never said anything."

"He all but proposed!" she said, incredulous.

"When?" My incredulity was, I think, better deserved than hers, given that I had apparently been wooed and not noticed.

"When?" she asked back. "Like, two days ago. The day after I got engaged."

"What?"

"You talked to him," she said. "You told him that the girl of his dreams was probably standing "right in front of him." Or "right under his nose". Or "right between his legs"."

"Ew."

She shrugged. "I don't know what you said. I wasn't there. You said it, though."

"I didn't mean me!"

She frowned. "Are you kidding me?"

I winced. "No. Not really. I don't think of Robbie that way."

She pursed her lips. "It's Edward's flat-mate isn't it?"

"It has nothing to do with him."

"Really? If there was no Hank, or whatever his name is, you wouldn't be passing over Robbie like he's not the best deal you will ever get?"

Somewhere, not very deep under the surface, was a massive insult. I chose to ignore it. "Robbie's a great guy," I said, choosing to briefly forget his many inadequacies, "but he's just not my type."

"You should never have led him on."

"I didn't!"

She gave me a look. One that was horribly reminiscent of her mother and her sister and all of the girls at school who would never deign to speak to me. It was chilly, to say the least. "Whatever, Cate."

"Izzy!"

We didn't get any further. The boys came back, and we moved on. Something had changed a little. Izzy still smiled and laughed and joked, but it wasn't the same. And that night, as opposed to the normal slew of text messages I received after an evening out, there was nothing. Not one message.

* * *

><p><strong>Friends, I am blown away. Yet again. Thank you for the lovely reviews. You are awesome.<strong> **I do feel a little bad though: following my last post's CSI:Miami smack-down, they've been cancelled. I feel like I might have caused it. Poor weird Horatio Caine. **

**We are, unfortunately, dangerously close to where I am writing currently. I hope to write more. I really do. I just work at the computer all day and sitting at it in the evening isn't always all that attractive. I'll try. I really will. Thanks again. Particularly **Sapphire Dawn, Healed 535 **and **wyread.** And LJ as per usual. Seriously awesome, guys.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

August rolled by, greyer, damper, and colder than it should have been. Despite the weather, people still rolled up to the Park. Ellis and Brandon were run off their feet. All of us were pressed to help. Tom and Charlotte, fresh back from honeymoon, were given five minutes to show their photographs (nauseatingly gorgeous shots of Verona) before the staff-meeting began. Then life went on as normal. Meetings and plannings and a smattering of packing when I had a moment, and drinks out with the Dashwoods and Brandon, Charlotte and Tom, Jim and Izzy on occasions. Robbie, rarely. It would appear that I lost my chance with him. Izzy told me, several times, of the gorgeous girls he was off chasing. I suspected she intended to rile me. She failed. Utterly.

Mari still hadn't heard from Marc. She appeared to be resigned to whatever happened. She would welcome him back, faithfully, but for now, she didn't appear to have much hope. Brandon continued to simmer, his rage at Marc flickering only just below the surface. Ellis continued to tell no one, save maybe Brandon, on occasion, how she really felt. She seemed happier though. Life ticked on.

And then September came. Gloriously hot again. Colour starting to turn, leaves thinking about falling, and I packed a few more boxes and talked to Harry, a little more regularly than was really necessarily. He was arriving, he said, at about ten on the Monday. I told him that if he did that, he'd have to leave Bristol at the crack of dawn. He told me not to worry about it and that anyway, seven wasn't all that early. Comparatively. I laughed and we fell into conversation about those jobs which do require leaving the house early and how we couldn't do it, and it wasn't until I put the phone down later that I realised that I had never pinned him down over that Monday. I decided not to worry, and that I'd renegotiate the night before. Except I hadn't quite counted on my family. "A quiet family dinner," they said. "Up at the boat-house," they suggested. "Maybe a few friends."

'A few friends' turned out to be everyone I knew. I mean, _everyone_. Brandon and Jim and Izzy and my parents, to the Dashwoods, to the Middletons and Tom and Charlotte, Lou and her current boyfriend, right down to the postman. All of the gardeners were there. The vicar and his wife. The fish delivery guy. Mrs Knowles from the cornershop. Even Jack, who though Ellis said he had 'found a new job' after the vase incident, we all knew he was fired. Oh, and Harry.

* * *

><p>They didn't really need to yell 'surprise' the way they did. I'm pretty sure that their success in, let's be honest, lying to me, was evident on my face. And the fact that I nearly fell down the stairs. Harry shrugged and grinned in the ensuing din of music and party blowers.<p>

"We were never going to let you go without some massive blow-out," said Mari, grinning for the first time in a while. "Honestly, Cate. You didn't suspect it?"

"Well when you lie as proficiently as Ellis," I said, "you need never fear repercussions."

"She is alarmingly good at that." She smiled again. "Come on. You need a drink." She dragged me over to the bar, past Harry who was smiling. And past his brother, who nodded at me. I shot back a look at Harry. He shrugged again. I had yet to exchange more than a handful of words with Frederick Tilney. Why he felt the need to attend my surprise going-away party baffled me, not a little. I soon forgot my befuddlement, however, once I was given a G&T. And a sparkly hat.

* * *

><p>"It's a good hat," said Harry, a little while later, appearing at my elbow.<p>

I turned to him, and smiled. "You lied to me."

"I absolutely did not."

"You said you'd see me on Monday. Not a word about Saturday night. Not one word, Tilney."

He grinned. "I did say I'd see you on Monday. That is true."

"HA."

"But I never said I wouldn't see you before that."

I narrowed my eyes. "Semantics, dear Watson, are elementary."

"That makes no sense."

"I rarely do." I smiled, blithely. "I'm glad you're here. You're here for the whole weekend?"

He stepped imperceptibly closer in all the noise and bustle. "I'm staying with Rick back in Plymouth. I hope it's all right that I brought him with me."

"It's fine," I said, not noticing or caring what Rick Tilney was doing. Shamelessly.

"Good," he said, and there was a moment. A definite, carvable in stone moment that felt like it was stretching on deliciously. That was, until my father broke it, gracelessly, by clamouring for a speech.

* * *

><p>A little later, a little too hot, and definitely too flustered, I escaped out onto the deck and hiked myself onto the balustrade, next to Ellis with Brandon slumped in a chair next to her, where they were hiding from the raucous rest. The surf was louder. The sky darker. The air cooler. I breathed deeply, eyes closed.<p>

"You all right?" asked Ellis.

"Mmm." I opened my eyes. "Good party. Well plotted."

Her eyes widened, innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Some might call this ability 'psychopathic'."

She grinned. "Thank you."

"You're thanking her for party-praise, or the insult?" asked Brandon.

"Both?"

"I'm very concerned," he murmured, taking a long swig of his beer.

"You should know," I said, "that this old-married-couple thing you have going on is, while delightful, misleading some people."

"What are you talking about?"

I smiled, benignly at Brandon. "Only that about a month ago Izzy Ferrars told me that your brother, Ellis," I said, turning to her, "thinks that you two are imminently heading down the aisle."

"Where on earth did he get that idea from?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Isn't Lucy working for him now?"

"Lucy?"

"Don't sound so surprised," said Brandon. "You connived to get her that job and, therefore, out of your hair."

"I knew it!" I said

"Knew what?" asked Ellis. "That I got Lucy her job and that I wasn't overly fond of her? Anyone could have guessed that."

Brandon grinned at me, smugly.

"That you connived," I said. "There's more to this."

"There's more to everything," she said. "But why Lucy should tell John that Brandon and I are a thing is baffling, unless..."

"Unless what?" I asked. "Plenty of people have told me what a great couple you two would make. She could as well."

"But she knows…" started Ellis, before abruptly stopping.

"Knows what?"

Brandon gave her a look. I tried to not jump up and down at the prospect that my going-away present from Ellis might be the revelation of what the heck was going on with her.

"Oh, uh, you know…" She sighed. "It doesn't matter. Maybe you're right. She did suggest you, Brandon, as a possible match for me, once."

Damn. Chance missed.

Brandon snorted. "We'd kill each other. I'd spend the whole time throwing spinach at you in a vain attempt to make you not get scurvy."

"Mmm," said Ellis, vaguely.

"Are you all right?" I asked, wondering if a well-broken reverie might bring the truth spilling out.

She was gazing back into the boat-house, frowning. "Yeah," she said. "Just…who's that with Izzy?"

We looked back. The place was packed. Who knew so many people knew me? Or liked me enough to turn out to say goodbye? Or who were so desperate for a party that they'd come to any old bozo's shindig? Except amongst the people and the balloons and the streamers, there was Izzy, leaning back against the wall, and Rick Tilney, very, very close to her.

"That's Harry's brother."

Brandon sat up a little. "You think I should go and, you know, menace him?" He appeared to enjoy the prospect.

Ellis frowned. "It's not like she's really putting him off."

"She's engaged," I said. "Rick knows that."

"You sure?" asked Ellis. "He's not exactly acting like he knows she has a fiancée."

Brandon drained his beer. "She's not exactly acting like _she_ knows she has a fiancée." He stood up.

"Where are you going?" I asked. "You're not going to be all weird, are you?"

He smiled, enigmatically. "I'm just going to go and chat to my future sister-in-law."

"Bran!"

He disappeared off into the crowd of people.

"Damn it."

"Don't worry," said Ellis. "He won't kill him. He probably won't do anything except cruise by them with a significantly crazy look at her."

"You know him very well. You sure you're not secretly married?"

"Pretty sure."

"OK."

"Why is he so grim?" asked Ellis, a few minutes later when, with Izzy heading back towards Jim, Brandon reappeared, looking smug.

"Who? Rick?" I shrugged. "I don't know. Something about an accident, I think. The reason for the limping and the stick. And the scowl."

"I thought it was just an affectation aimed at those who have decided that _House_ is hot."

I gave Brandon a look. "Maybe," I said, "but somehow, I doubt it."

He sat back down in his chair. "Job done," he said. "I can go back to enjoying this party."

"From out here?"

"I'm a social commentator."

I rolled my eyes at him. "I'm going back inside. Thanks for the party, Ellis."

"You're welcome," she said. "You'll be missed."

I paused in the doorway. "I'll be back pretty often."

"Really?" asked Brandon, disappointedly. "But I was going to turn your bedroom into a cheese larder."

I gave him a look. He shot me a rare grin back. I decided to rise above it, and went back to my party.

* * *

><p>I found Mari sitting in the corner, chin resting on one hand, watching everyone else.<p>

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She looked up and smiled. "Yes," she said, slowly. "I'm just…" She sighed. "I'm missing Marc."

I sat down next to her. "He'd enjoy this party."

"He'd have started a limbo-off by now." She smiled, ruefully. "He'll be back soon. I just wish I knew when."

It didn't seem to the time for brutal, ill-informed honesty, so I smiled, sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I know we haven't really had time to talk about it all, but I'll be back, and I'm on my mobile, and I'll have email. If you want to."

She smiled. "Thanks. So. That's Harry?"

I groaned. "Ellis and Brandon are a pair of old gossips."

"He's cute."

I deliberately said nothing.

"And he seems to like you, which shows excellent character."

"He seems to like me?"

She raised an eyebrow. "He turned up two days early for your going away party when you are, in fact, going to him. He'll see you all the time. He didn't need to say goodbye."

"He likes a good party," I said, defensively.

"He likes you."

I couldn't help but smile. She, unfortunately saw it.

"And you like him? Cate! This is perfect. Just what I need to keep my mind off missing Marc."

"What? Meddling in my love life?"

"Yes. Exactly. So. I shall be emailing. And phoning. And meeting up when you're back here. But mainly for the purposes of plotting your entrapment of that cute guy. He's a vicar isn't he?"

"Something like that."

"So he has principles. This is good..."

I sighed. "Mari, I thought I was supposed to be counselling you over Marc."

She shrugged. "There's not much to say. He's gone off without any contact details for reasons I don't know, and coming back when I don't know. There's nothing else to say. If there was anything definite I could do something, but I can't, so I'll just keep ticking over for the moment and, in the meantime, plotting your epic love-life."

I groaned, lowering my head to the table. "This is an absolute disaster."

* * *

><p>"We bought a house."<p>

Charlotte and Tom pounced on me like some four armed Greek-mythological beast. "What?"

"A house," said Charlotte, a mad look in her eyes. Or it might have been rum. One or the other. "An actual house."

"With doors and windows?"

"You mock," said Tom, "but no. Not quite yet."

"So you bought walls?"

I found myself sitting at one of the tables. Sequestered. By crazy people. "We've got to replace all the doors and windows since they got smashed out by the last people who lived there. Or their drunk friends. Or something. Crazy people, anyway."

"I can imagine," I said, faintly.

"But it's a house," said Charlotte, "and most importantly, it's an hour closer to you."

I frowned. "Closer than what? You're sitting a foot away from me."

"North, Cate. An hour north. Towards Northanger."

Oh good grief. "It's not the north pole that I'm going to," I said. "Nor, in fact, am I leaving the _county_."

Charlotte covered my hand with hers. "You haven't been away for a while though…"

"You bought a house merely to pander to the fact that I haven't left home for a while? I'm not some crazy agoraphobe. I can walk around outside."

"That's not what I meant…" said Charlotte.

Tom laughed. "It's exactly what she meant. You're crazy, and we will be closer to you, should you go mad."

I kicked him. Naturally. "And you bought a house to provide for that possibility?"

"That _very real _possibility? Yes."

"That, and it's about ten minutes from his parents," said Charlotte.

I turned on Tom, victorious. "Who's the lame-ass home body now?"

He shrugged, maddeningly. "It's ideally suited for helping out with Dad's forestry business come the day that he needs the help. That, and houses in Barton cost a bajillion pounds."

"Exactly?"

"Rounded down." He grinned. "And I don't really think that you're a lame-ass home body."

"Yeah you do," I said, getting up.

"Yeah, I do. What is _with _that?"

I kissed Charlotte's cheek and smacked Tom up the back of his head. "Thank you. I will phone you when I go regretfully but inevitably insane."

"That-a-girl."

* * *

><p>"Your friends are weird."<p>

A lot of people had left. It was understandable. It was super late and, more significantly, the really good cake had been finished. Harry, however, was still around, and materialised at my elbow again.

"They may possibly be quite a good reflection of me," I confessed.

He smiled. "I was not under any illusions that you weren't, also, weird."

"It's what you love about me." I balked. Even at myself. He, however, smiled again.

"You do have a certain muppety charm."

Mari dropped into the chair opposite. "She does, doesn't she? I've always thought that…" She smiled and held out a hand. "I'm Mari."

He shook it. "We've met."

"When?"

"About three weeks ago," I offered. "Marc introduced you." She flinched and it hit me: I had been flippant, and worse, thoughtless. "Oh, Mari…" I said, wincing.

"Don't you dare apologise," she said. "He's not dead. It's not the end of the world. You can mention his name."

I made a face at her. "Fine. Then, in that case, Marc introduced you guys. If I remember correctly, he giggled that your names rhyme."

"Sounds about right," murmured Harry, flashing a smile at me. A great one. Holy mackerel.

"It's nice to see you again," she said to Harry. Then she glanced at me. Significantly.

"And you."

"Cate says that you're a vicar?"

"In training. And you?"

"I'm not a vicar. I'm not holy enough."

He grinned. "None of us are."

She smiled. "I'm a semi-unemployed semi-voluntary second-hand bookshop manager."

"Sounds interesting."

"No it doesn't," she said, smiling again, "but it's keeping me busy until I remember that I'm not doing anything with my life and then I'll shake myself out of it and get on and, I don't know, do something."

"What do you want to do?" I asked, suddenly curious. I had never really considered that this wasn't what she wanted in life.

"Write."

"Anything particular?" asked Harry.

"Something worth reading." She shrugged. "Better than the crap that Cate here reads, anyway."

"Hey!"

"Really?" he asked, turning on me. "And what do you read?"

This was not going to end well. I could tell. "Oh, you know," I said, vaguely. "Epic works of fiction."

"Science fiction, romance, and books about teenage vampires."

Damn. She had my number.

"Teenage vampires?"

I shrugged. "You know…they hold a certain charm?"

"Really?"

"Not as much as teen Greek-Gods," interrupted Mari.

She really did have me there. "That is true," I qualified to Harry. "I do love those. Vampires come and go, but those Greek-Gods…"

He grinned. "Baffled," he said. "Truly baffled."

"Aren't we all."

"Aren't we all what?" asked Brandon, clearing the empty glasses from the table.

"Baffled by Cate's choice of reading material."

"Oh, yeah," he said, wiping up the table. "Totally. To say nothing of her taste in films."

"And television," yawned Ellis as she sat down next to Mari.

"What's wrong with my taste in television?" I asked, indignant.

"You watch an exclusive diet of murder mysteries and cooking shows."

"So?"

"You are weird," said Mari, reaching across the table, a hand either side of my face, "but we adore you. You're like our little tiny court jester."

"Oh, great."

"Just murder mysteries?" asked Harry.

"And cooking programmes. Why? You don't watch them?"

He pulled a face. "I'm more of a movie, documentary, quiz show kind of guy."

"Quizzes?" groaned Mari. "You're a quiz man?"

"I like a good fact."

Mari groaned again. "If you turn Cate into a quizzer, keep her there. We don't want her back."

"Wait, what?"

"Quizzers are obnoxious," she said, in a tone so matter of fact that I think even Harry was about to accept it.

Ellis frowned. "But you're forever spouting poetry at us and telling us about Shakespeare and whatever," she said in the tired, bored tones of someone more than ready for bed.

Mari rolled her eyes. "That's about the drama. And finding the exact words to lighten or to illuminate…"

"Or to show off…" murmured Ellis.

"It's different."

"No it isn't."

"Either way," broke in Harry, a little awkwardly, "I won't send her back a quizzer."

"Not much fear of that," smirked Brandon.

I pulled a face at him.

"Are you done here?" Ellis asked Brandon. He had, around us, cleared up, leaving the bare minimum of sweeping and sorting to be done.

"Good enough," he said.

"Then sorry Cate," she yawned, "but I need bed." She stood up and, in her sleep deprived state, dragged me into a hug. "We'll miss you."

"Yeah you will," I murmured in an epic defence against crying. Like a girl. In front of Harry. Because really. Ellis had just expressed emotion and actual feelings. A break through seemed imminent and I was going to miss it by going to the north pole. Or somewhere.

* * *

><p>Bravely, or perhaps foolishly, Harry stuck around on Sunday having crashed at Brandon's (pre-planned by M herself, no doubt). In theory, his hanging out on Sunday was to facilitate the packing thereof of the Jeep. In reality, it turned into him, sitting at the kitchen table for most of the day, being force-fed by my mother. Then, when she judged that I had a) packed enough (barely anything) and that b) Harry had eaten enough (all of the food in all of the world), she instigated games night which should be permanently subtitled as 'The Twelve Labours of Rich Uncle Pennybags' or maybe 'welcome to the Morlands: we're cracked'. Brandon (the reigning Cluedo champion) had turned up after finishing work early, and Jim (Connect 4 King) and Izzy (as yet un-crowned) arrived after a long day of probably staring at each other soulfully. They joined in to, allegedly, give me a lovely last night at home, but it appeared to be more to attempt to thoroughly display the weirdness of our family and freak out Harry (surprise consummate winner of Quizopolyaroo). They failed. He survived. In style. Then he went off to spend another night at Brandon's and Mum hovered in my doorway, watching me pack up my last few things and torn between saying how sad she was I was leaving, how happy she was I had a job, and how excited she was at the prospect of Harry as a son-in-law. Which I astutely ignored.<p>

Monday dawned grey and chilly, which was, I thought, ominous. It felt like a scene from _Twilight_. I tried not to dwell on it too much. Harry was, after all, well-spoken and intelligent. See? Ominous. Never mind. I attempted to calm the weird-jitters by drinking three cups of tea and eating an enormous piece of hot-cross bun loaf. The nerves were not, however, helped much by Mum who kept trying to pack things that weren't mine, and Dad, who asked four times if I had enough money. And then Mum tried to give me one of the kittens. And a case of marmalade. And then Dad told her that I was going to be fine, to stop fussing, and then asked if I had enough money again. It was quite a relief really when Harry turned up.

"You all right?"

"Oh, fine!" I said, breezily. Airily. Ridiculously lightly.

He smiled. "OK. Mr and Mrs M," he said, turning to my parents with a piece of paper in hand. "Here is a ridiculously long list of ways you can contact Cate, should you need to and she isn't answering because of dead batteries, broken phone lines, maiming or, potentially, death."

"Hey!"

"Oh thank you Harry!" said Mum. "So thoughtful…"

"You're not supposed to be comforted by my imminent death!"

"Sweet pea, were someone to attack you, I'm pretty sure they'd have to get past twelve rape alarms, ten pepper sprays and seventeen jabby things."

"Jabby things?"

He shrugged. "Keys. Biros. A tampon…"

"OK," I said, feeling my face flame as Harry tried very hard to not laugh. "Thanks for that."

"You'll be fine."

"OK."

Harry grinned. "I'm going out to the car, so you can say goodbye." He turned to my parents again. "Nice to see you again," he said.

Mum hugged him. Hard. "It was lovely to see you again. You're welcome any time."

Dad gave him some kind of manly handshake. I think he took a whack at breaking some bones. A little bit of don't-mess-with-my-daughter. And then Harry left, subtly flexing his hand, and Mum fell on me.

"Stay safe," she said. "Don't talk to strangers. Don't be too shy. Be yourself. They're sure to love you."

"Have a wonderful time," said Dad, having a bash at cracking a rib. "Come home soon."

"I will," I croaked, partly from emotion, partly from exsanguination.

Then they pushed me out of the door and followed me down the path, handed me into Harry's Jeep, wished him well, yet again, then slammed the door and waved me off and I tried to remember to a) not cry and b) breathe. In only one of them was I successful.

* * *

><p>"You still all right?"<p>

I sniffed in what I hoped was an elegant fashion. "Yeah. They're weird but, you know…"

He smiled. "I get it." He passed me a box of tissues and carried on driving, astutely not making too much of my epic display of home-body-sad-loserness.

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't apologise. Everyone should feel sad leaving their families. I wish I…" He trailed off and paused. The he regrouped. "If you weren't sad I'd be more worried."

Well colour me curious. "Can I ask you something?" I asked, stepping out into new and unforeseen levels of nosiness.

He smiled. "You can ask."

"What's your family _really_ like?"

He let out a breath like a manatee, surfacing. "Hugely dysfunctional."

"Everyone's family is dysfunctional. You've seen mine first hand."

He laughed. "Yes. Mine's, uh…different."

I didn't say anything. He let out another breath, then glanced at me.

"We've struggled to be close. Dad has always been quite a stiff-upper-lip-type and Mum wasn't, really. I think he loved that about her but it always created this kind of tension." He shrugged and suddenly, it all came out. "She became a Christian and wanted us to all go to church with her, but Dad likes church as more of a social institution, you know? He's horrified if anyone suggests not going at Remembrance, but otherwise it's something that interferes with his getting his lunch at the right time. Anyway. All four of us kids went along for a while, but quite quickly the older two decided that they were too old and sophisticated and then it became kind of a thing that Nell and I went with Mum and the others didn't, and we thought they were missing out and they thought we were stupid, and it just…" He sighed. "Things unravelled a bit."

"I thought you told me that you used to be close with Rick, or he used to be fun, or something like that…"

He smiled a little. "Yeah. We were, in between fighting about faith and politics and education and the arts and the military and anything else you care to name. He thought I was an idiot and I thought he was throwing his life away with stupid decisions, but we still loved each other."

I took a breath. "So what happened?"

He pressed his lips together and didn't say anything for a few stretching seconds and then said, slowly, "Mum died."

I winced.

"We were both hurt and angry, and we both said things that we shouldn't have, and Mum wasn't there to hold the family together. Sophie moved out as fast as she could, Rick disappeared back off to university and Nell and I were left on our own with a father who retreated into being even more of a stiff-upper-lipped ex-army General than he was before." He paused again. "Mum always pushed him to be less straight-laced and to care less about what everyone else thought of him. I mean," he said, shaking his head, "he never tried very hard, and their relationship strained under the pressure of each of them trying to make the other something that they weren't but after she died, he just gave all of that up. I don't know if it was that that kind of freedom reminded him of her, or if it's just that he embraced the chance to give it all up because she wasn't there anymore, but he really has got so much more formal. More obsessed with appearances. More concerned with show." He smiled, resigned. "It drives me crazy."

"Why did he ever ask me to work for him then? He should have resurrected Gertrude Jekyll."

He laughed. "From the way he talks about you, I'm pretty sure that he thinks he has." He glanced at me again. "That, or her, reincarnated."

I sighed. "I haven't got a fraction of her talent. Not one hundredth."

He grinned. "I wouldn't know. If creativity was chocolate, mine wouldn't fill a Smartie."

I laughed. I might even have snorted.

"I'm pretty sure though," he continued, looking back at me, "that yours would just about fill a warehouse."

I managed to get a reign on my laughter. Not least because of a) what he just said which whacked me right behind the knees, b) the way he was looking at me, and c) the fact that he was looking at d) me and not the e) road. Thankfully, he stopped looking. I swallowed. "I'm getting pretty excited about this job."

"You're going to be great."

"I don't have your confidence."

"Nope," he said. "It's mine. I need it for tackling flower ladies and organists."

I laughed again.

* * *

><p>"So you live in an Abbey."<p>

He laughed or more accurately, chortled. "Can't get over that fact, can we?"

"An _abbey_, Harry. You grew up in what could be said is an enormous ex-monastery."

He grinned. "Well, one, I didn't grow up in it. I lived in about forty-three gajillion other houses, being an army-brat, and two, it's not that big."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Oh, and three, it had nuns in it. Not monks."

"So?"

"So it's a reasonably sized ex-nunnery."

"Nunnery?"

He nodded. "They were monastics there. Not mendicants."

"I have no idea what that means."

He grinned. "You won't be able to live with my father for long without hearing all of this. Broadly, monastics work for their money. Mendicants rely on others."

"And the Northanger nuns were monastics?"

"Yep."

"So Northanger has historically been more about working and serving than relying on any feudal lords?" Seriously. I had never felt so smart. Especially then when Harry shot me an admiring glance.

"Exactly," he said. "Now you're talking the General's language." He dropped into what was, frankly, an alarmingly good impersonation of his father. "Northanger is built on hard-work, Henry. Hard-work and broken backs and none of this emotional nonsense."

I laughed again. "OK. And it's not that big?"

"Our bit was the Infirmary."

"Figures."

He grinned again. "After they were all dissolved, the land was bought by the Earl at Northanger Hall. He then realised that it was a little large and expensive to have just as a big old folly, so he sold off the Infirmary with about forty acres and kept the main part of the Abbey itself for his romantic jaunting and whatever else he did."

"Jaunting?"

"Picnics? I've no idea. Given his reputation, I'd rather not know. His ancestors sometime in the last hundred years then sold it off to English Heritage, of which you will hear more from my Father about their cut-throat and idiotic nature."

"Are they?"

"Nope."

I smiled involuntarily. "OK."

"They drive him insane by playing on the more marketable aspects of the Abbey. Hauntings. Dressing up like monks. Shakespearean theatre. None of which, as my father will explain to you, extensively, at length, have anything to do with Northanger Abbey."

"None of it?"

He grinned. "Well. Not the dressing up or the _Hamlet…_"

"Oh, don't do that."

He grinned again. "Don't do what, exactly?"

I squirmed. "You know I've got an over active imagination."

"I have noticed. But then I've also noticed the creaking doors. The unexplained footsteps. The swish of habits against the floor…"

I scowled at him. "You think you're very funny, don't you?"

He grinned once more. "I can't help it if I'm hilarious."

"You believe in an after-life though?"

"Yes, of course, and there's a ton of stuff that I don't understand and never will get my head around, but I'm pretty sure that in this case, dead nuns have got more important things to do in the great beyond than come back and hang out in the corridors after dark."

"Really."

He shot me a smile. "Yes."

"OK then."

* * *

><p>There is nothing as creepy as a flock of rooks, calling to each other. Unless it's a rookery at an old nunnery. I have proof. Go to Northanger. You'll see. We had driven north until we again saw the sea, and then followed the coast around before we turned up a valley, past a few little villages, and through a small, exceptionally dark pine forest, before finally emerging in front of the house. It rose in grey stone in front of us with a few small windows. Harry stopped the car and leant on the steering wheel.<p>

"Welcome to Northanger Abbey."

I looked up, through the windshield and gulped. "Holy crap, I'm going to be murdered in my bed."

"I'm pretty sure that you won't."

"Sorry," I said, wincing. "I shouldn't have said…"

"I don't care," he said. "Come on. This is by far the worst view of the house." He opened the door. The smell of pine sap and damp stone pervaded the car.

"The other side is better?"

"Much better."

"You promise?"

He smiled, slowly. Then he got out of the car, slamming his door, came round to my side, opened it (I considered holding it closed but thought I might look ridiculous), and held out a hand to me. "I promise," he said. "Come on."

I took a breath, then took his hand. "OK."

"OK," he said, and held on.

* * *

><p>So had I crossed the whackadoodle line. I can admit it. It was probably bad enough that I all but cut off the circulation to Harry's hand for a few minutes until he was forced to let go upon going through the garden gate. That, or he feared that his fingers were going to fall off. Anyway, I held it together. Just about. Harry was right: the south side of the house is way less creepy than the north. Maybe it should be called Northcreepy instead. Or Northeerie. North-freaking-spine-chilling. So. The south side. It was sunny and there were rambling roses and open windows, and I all but forgot the horrific damp-smelling, shadowy, rook infested other side. Eleanor bounded out of the open French windows and hugged me. General Tilney emerged out of a door at the other end of the house and made his stately way across the lawn.<p>

"Catherine, I hope you had a pleasant journey."

"It was very pleasant, thank you."

"Good. I have business in town to which I must attend. I hope that you'll take a few days to unpack and find your bearings, and then we shall begin on Thursday. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, of course." I sounded all of seven.

"Good. Henry, be sure to carry Catherine's luggage for her."

He rolled his eyes. "I was going to anyway, Dad."

"Well. Good. Eleanor has insisted on putting her in the south attic, though why the guest bedroom isn't good enough, I shall never understand."

"It's a much nicer room," protested Eleanor, quickly, "and it has views of the garden. I thought it would be more conducive to inspiration." She smiled at me, winningly.

"There's another flight of stairs and a much smaller bathroom as well. Do you consider that when planning for Catherine's inspiration?"

It was awkward to say the least. "The attic sounds lovely," I said. "And I don't mind the stairs in the slightest."

"You're very gracious. Should you change your mind, Eleanor will move your belongings for you." He shot his daughter a foreboding look. "Enjoy your first day at Northanger," he concluded. "I'm afraid that I shall not be home in time for dinner. I hope you'll forgive me."

His formality terrified me. "Oh, of course," I said.

"Good. I will look forward to seeing you for breakfast. Have a good day." With that, he turned on his heel and returned into the house.

Harry let out a gusty breath. Then he smiled. "You'll note that he said he'd see you _for _breakfast. Not 'at'. Just to fuel your freak-out…"

"What are you talking about?" asked Eleanor.

"Cate thinks that the house is haunted. Or that she'll be murdered. Or that she'll be murdered and then she will haunt it."

"Harry!"

"Oh, it's not, Cate. It's really not. It's perfectly normal. You've got nothing to worry about."

"ELEANOR!" the General bellowed from the door.

She whipped around.

"SHOW CATHERINE AROUND THE HOUSE!"

"I was going to anyway," she muttered. "OK," she called.

"BUT DON'T GO IN THE WEST WING!"

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you, once again, for reading and reviewing. You guys are ace.<br>**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: A brief interlude with one Brandon M. Moreland**

Ellis had come round for the evening. She was looking cranky and weird, and neither of us wanted to talk about (what must, presumably be) Ed or (irrationally, irreparably) Mari. So instead we got out a bunch of old movies and opened a large bottle of wine and I made lasagne. Except I made it with vegetables and lentils in a rare concession to her ridiculous vegetarian tendencies. And despite the lack of meat, it was pretty damn good. So we watched and ate and drank and managed yet another evening where we talked about this and that, but determinedly not what was actually on our minds. And then, my phone rang.

"What do you want?"

"_Caller ID has killed your telephone manner, you know that?"_

I sighed. "You all right? I assume you got there safely."

"_I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm just ruddy trapped in the castle of the Beast, that's all."_

I groaned. "That's not some kind of sexual euphemism, is it?"

"_What?"_

"I don't know!"

"_No! I meant literally!"_

"How can that possibly be literal? Which beast are you blithering about?"

"Is that Cate?" asked Ellis. "What's going on?"

Cate had started yammering again, so I covered the mouthpiece and moved the phone away. "She is, apparently, trapped in the castle of the Beast."

"What?"

"Yes."

"Is she high?"

"Are you high?" I asked into the phone, cutting across a high pitched stream of consciousness.

"_What? No. Listen, I'm serious."_

"You are not trapped in the castle of the Beast."

"_He told me not to go in the west wing."_

"So?"

"_Tell Ellis. She'll understand."_

I told Ellis. She frowned.

"I don't think she understands."

Cate actually growled with frustration. _"It's so absolutely typical that she's the only girl around who wouldn't have either seen, or more likely, remember, _Beauty and the Beast."

"Is that what you're talking about?"

"_What did you think I was talking about?"_

"Some kind of disgusting and perverted sexual euphemism."

"_Brandon!"_

"So what's the problem?"

She paused, and sighed. "_You're never going to understand,"_ she said eventually. _"Just don't be surprised when you hear an unlikely story about me, a talking tea cup, and a magical rose."_

I, also, paused. "Is the tea cup also magical?"

"_What?"_

"Is it…"

"_Yes, I suppose. Why do you care?"_

I shrugged, somewhat pointlessly. "I don't really. I just wondered. You said the rose was specifically magical…"

"_I don't believe it."_

She was finally silent. "Are you all right?" I asked again.

"_Yes," _she said. _"First-night-freak-out."_

"Got your pepper spray handy?"

She sighed. _"Yes," _she said, sounding like she might be smiling. _"OK." _

"OK."

"_Speak to you soon."_

"Be good. Don't freak out."

"_OK." _She hung up.

Girls. Are. Weird.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so sorry this has been so long coming. I'm not abandoning this. Honestly. It's just taking a while to write. Thank you to all who have stuck with it this far. As a reward to you, kind readers, I'll post another chapter straight away. Well, it's both a reward and a guard against you yelling at me for posting a four-hundred word chapter. As ever, nothing that you recognise from Austen is mine. Because it's hers. Obviously. <strong>  
><strong>FP<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Cate**

I'm pretty sure that there are definite phases in your life. Like the moon. Or the different layers and types and places of dinosaurs. Or are they eras? Waves, anyway, of change. Storms and calm and whirlpools and millponds. Just like CSI. How Miami has been heading down a whirlpool of shame ever since they killed Speed. Or how New York has been merrily bobbing on a sun pennied calm ever since they dressed Flack up as an elf for Christmas. You know? And there's normally a line you cross into that phase, and maybe you can't see it right now, like the equator, but it's definitely there. Though I'm not so sure about the equator. Anyway. Finally arriving at Northanger had felt like a new start. A shift in the cosmos. I had been ready to be the new, suave, working-girl (not unlike Melanie Griffith, except without that hair) but then the west-wing incident happened. And it turned out that nothing ever changes. Except it kind of did. In a way.

* * *

><p>The whackadoodle line well and truly crossed (I had to phone Brandon the next day and apologise, to which he was remarkably gracious and not entirely mocking) it wasn't that much of a stretch to lose all sight of it. We had spent a nice afternoon and evening. While Harry lugged my belongings up two flights of stairs, Eleanor took me on a tour of the house. It was pretty clear that Eleanor and Harry rarely strayed beyond the kitchen and the little sitting room next to it. The stairs by the kitchen rose to just outside Eleanor's room, and of the two staircases rising from the landing, one went to the south attics, or my rooms. Yes. Rooms. Two of them. Eleanor had cleared both rooms out, so that the east room could be my bedroom, and the south, overlooking the gardens, could be a workroom. Which was, really, perfect. And fancy. The rest of the house was darker. Much more shadowed. The large dining room was, I was informed, rarely used. And incredibly cold. The drawing room, likewise, and the study was the General's domain. It had its own staircase, rising into the master bedroom suite, which we hurried through, with Eleanor pointing out bedroom and bathroom doors. I don't think either of us particularly wanted to stay there, and I assumed that we were hurrying because she didn't want her father to know that we were having a cheeky sprint through the west wing. We scurried back across the galleried landing (dark and mysterious), past what would have been my bedroom had Eleanor not intervened (large and creepy) and back up towards her own bedroom and the stairs up to mine. Harry was just coming down the other staircase, looking exhausted.<p>

"You done?" asked Eleanor.

He sat down. "Yes. Just. And then I smelled myself and it wasn't pleasant so I went to put on something less sweaty."

"Charming," said Eleanor. "I'm going to go and make a cup of tea." With that, she disappeared.

"You've had a tour of the house?" Harry asked, as I sat down on my staircase, facing him.

I nodded. "Yep. Seen pretty much the whole thing. Viewed countless rooms. Climbed countless staircases. Jogged through the west wing…"

He looked bemused. "I didn't hear you at all. I thought you were down here or down stairs the whole time."

I, then, frowned. "We…we were. I meant your father's bedroom. I assumed…"

"That's not the west wing. Not what he means anyway."

"It's not?"

"No." He smiled. "I thought he said not to go there anyway."

"Well, he did," I said, feeling flustered. "I just thought…I thought we had. You know. Who bans a whole wing of a house?"

He paused. "None of us go there. It was my mother's room."

"What?" Oh, the horror. She's probably still in it. Frozen. Like Walt Disney. I tried not to think about it.

He shrugged. "He shut it up straight after she died."

"And you never go there?"

He pressed his lips together. Then he sighed. "Not for a long time."

I didn't want to push him. And I already felt like a complete tool for letting him drive me here and then carry all my belongings. But it just didn't make any sense. "Why?"

He leaned back. "Oh, I don't know, Cate. It's complicated."

"Why? She was your mother just as much as she was his wife."

"Probably moreso."

OK. Cryptic.

He sighed. "I don't know. We'll see."

And even more cryptic.

"Come on," he said, standing up. "I'm desperate for a cup of tea."

So we went down stairs, and I puzzled some more.

* * *

><p>It really was a nice evening. Harry and Eleanor both clearly went out of the way to make me feel welcome. We ate tons of food and watched schlocky movies and played cards and it felt like I was at home. Except home had quadrupled in size and gained a moat. But still. Finally, Harry disappeared off to lock up, and Eleanor led the way up stairs, turning on lights, checking my bedroom was warm. Dry. Non-haunted. It really was a really nice room, but the second, and I do mean the second that I finally turned out the light, I snapped. The darkness was velvety in its deepness and yet a weird blue light shone under one door. The silence was incredible but something also creaked. And then something made a knocking, clanging sort of sound. I was pretty sure that there was something in the walls. Someone outside my door. Oh, and something in my bed. So, having braved it for all of five minutes, I turned on the lamp beside my bed and sat up. Silence. Actual silence this time. Nothing creaked or groaned. I got out of bed and looked behind the wardrobe door to find a plug board with a blue on-light. So I turned it off. I leaped back into bed. The window rattled. I nearly screamed. I held it together. Just. The wind had blown up which was probably a good thing, as I could attribute most of the weird noises to it. I sat up in bed, listening some more. A toilet flushed. Footsteps across the floor. It occurred to me that Harry's room was up in the attics as well. I breathed slower. A door closed. Probably Harry going to bed, which all of a sudden seemed terribly intimate to know and it was all too much, so I turned off the light, lay down, and tried to determinedly go to sleep. Somehow or other, it worked.<p>

* * *

><p>I woke up with a start. I think I sat bolt-upright, and for a second, had no idea where I was in the pitchy-darkness. Then, slowly, it all clicked back into place. And then the thunder crashed and I practically leaped into the air.<p>

"Are you serious?" I whispered furiously. At the ceiling. Because it seemed the only thing to do. "Thunder? Now?"

And then the lightning flashed and I was pretty sure that there was a murdering psychopath, standing in the corner of my room. I think that this time, I shrieked. And cowered. And then remembered that the rape alarm from my pocket was just on my bedside table, so I reached for that, carefully. And I waited. What had been silence was replaced by hammering rain on the roof. I couldn't have heard anyone in the room breathing, unless they had some kind of deviated septum. Or were right in front of me. But I tried not to think about that. The thunder roared again and I scooted further back against the wall. I should have been counting since the last flash. I had no idea how far this was. If it was getting nearer. If any screams would be heard over the weather. I steeled myself, and decided that I was not going to die. Not tonight. So the next time the lightning flashed, I was ready. I was sure something moved by the door. I got out of bed and, with the rape alarm primed, got ready to simultaneously turn on the light, turn on the alarm, and hurl my hard-back _Earthsea Quartet_. Hard. And then there was a noise above the rain, and something knocked against the door, and it opened and I put my live-or-die-hard plan into action.

"WHAT _IS_ THAT?"

"MY RAPE ALARM!"

"WHAT?"

"MY RAPE…never mind."

"COULD YOU TURN IT OFF?"

"I'M TRYING."

"CATE…?"

"I SAID I'M TRYING. HOLD ON…"

Suddenly, it was blissfully quiet. Harry, with a red mark on his forehead where the book had slammed the door in his face, breathed out heavily, and sat down on the edge of the bookcase.

"I'm sorry," I said, eventually.

He looked up, slowly. "Cate…"

"Are you all right?" asked Eleanor, stumbling into the doorway.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry. It was all my fault. It won't happen again."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I just wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine," I said again.

"OK," she said, and smiled. "Can I get you anything? Hot drink? Hot water bottle?"

"No. I really am fine. Thank you."

"OK." She said, and smiled again. "Sleep well."

It was somehow more silent once she had left.

Harry took a breath.

"Don't," I interrupted. "Please don't. I feel stupid enough as it is."

He bit his lip, then smiled a little. "OK."

I groaned, and sat heavily on the bed. "Will I have woken your father?"

"I doubt that he's in yet," he said, quietly.

"What time is it?"

"Not yet midnight."

I fumbled for my phone. "I've only been asleep for half an hour?"

He smiled but mercifully, said nothing.

I sighed. "I feel like such an idiot."

"You're not."

"I'm pretty sure that there's quite a lot of evidence to the contrary. Your forehead, for one."

He put a hand to it, and winced.

"Oh, I'm such an idiot. Let me get something cold for it." I leaped out of bed and went out to the bathroom.

"It's fine," I could hear him saying. "Really, Catie…"

I ran my flannel under the tap until it was making my fingers numb, then turned to find him smack-bang in the doorway. I may have squeaked again. He sighed, took the flannel, held it against his forehead, and stepped closer.

"You really need to calm down," he said, gently, "or you're going to make yourself ill." He swallowed and blinked, and reached out a hand to my face. The one not clutched to his fractured skull. "Nothing's going to hurt you," he said, his palm against my cheek. "Nothing. You know that, don't you?"

I nodded, slightly, completely thrown by his hand. On my face. And his presence. In my bathroom. And his dress-code. Of t-shirt and boxers.

"I know," I managed, eventually. "I do. I just…I scare myself sometimes."

His look was long. It felt like forever. Finally, he sighed, and moved his hand away. "You scare _me_ sometimes."

"I don't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He smiled. "You don't need to apologise."

"I gave you a concussion."

"Manly war wounds. I shouldn't have opened the door. It was my own fault. I knew you were already a bit weirded out." He grimaced. "I probably caused a good portion of it with my ghost-nuns and, you know…"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wound you up."

I shrugged. "I'm easily wound."

He smiled. "OK. I should go to bed. You too."

For a mad second I thought…well. But he was not suggesting that. No.

"Are you going to be all right?" he asked. I had another mad second. Panic rose in my throat.

"I'll be fine," I said, quickly. "Really."

He nodded, and smiled a little. Then he put the flannel back on the sink. "OK," he said. "Sleep well."

"OK," I said, and then, he was gone.

* * *

><p>I slept the sound sleep of the shamed. I woke to find a text from Ellis asking how my first night had gone. As it was Ellis, I lied. <em>Good,<em> I wrote. _Lovely house, great gardens, good night, looking forward to work. _Lies, lies, lies. My shame complete, I got up and dressed, and made my way downstairs. I considered making Harry and Eleanor apologetic cups of tea, but then reasoned that not everyone wakes at half six, and they might not accept my apology, especially if accompanied by early morning tea spilled on their duvet. Or worse, knowing me. So I found my way back to the kitchen, and made tea for one. A door, just by the kitchen, led out onto a terrace, and just beyond, the dewy grass was bathed in the pale sunrise. I sat on the steps leading down to the lawn and breathed in the steam, and wiggled my flip-flopped toes in the sunshine. I had lied, flatly, to Ellis about last night, but the house really was lovely, and the gardens, even from my view on the terrace, looked great. Rolling. Green. Mysterious walls and beautiful trees. I breathed in again, and got the scent of the pines to the north of the house, a rose, rambling along the wall. A handful of butterflies lit upon a buddleia growing by the kitchen window. I sighed and the crushing shame with which I woke lessened a little. Except then the door opened, and Harry emerged with a pretty impressive bruise across his forehead.

"Oh man…"

He grinned. "Good morning to you too."

"Just when I was starting to feel less hideously embarrassed."

"It's good, right?"

"It looks awful. Like you've been mugged."

He sat down, cup of tea in hand. "I'm going to have so much more street-cred with the kids in the parish. It's going to be great."

"Oh, well, you're very welcome."

He laughed. "How did you sleep?"

"Pretty well, but then, after making such a hideously embarrassing spectacle of myself last night, why wouldn't I want to go to sleep, and relive it? Over and over. And over."

He laughed again. "Forget about it," he said.

"We all make mistakes, right?"

"Exactly."

"You want to share some of yours?"

"Oh, no."

I smiled. "As long as you learn from your mistakes," I said, philosophically.

"Teachableness is a great blessing."

"I'm not sure that that's a word."

"And I'm pretty sure that the main thing that you actually learnt last night was that books are really good weapons."

"Hey!"

He grinned once more. "Sorry. _Now _we will forget about it."

I sighed. "Why are you up so early?"

He rolled his shoulders. "I've got to get back to Bristol for a meeting at eleven."

"Is it a long drive?"

"A couple of hours, hopefully."

I turned to look at him, bruise and all. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"What for? Are you serious? Putting up with my family and my friends, and packing the car, and driving me here, and unpacking the car, and being an incredibly good sport about getting beaten up by a guest in your home, and, I don't know, other things too."

"You're welcome."

There was a moment, and I suddenly very clearly remembered standing in my bathroom, his hand, cool on my face, and I gulped.

He yawned, oblivious, and drained his tea. "I'm starving," he said. "You want pancakes?"

* * *

><p>With Harry gone, Eleanor had booked a few days off work to really settle me in. The hours and days blurred together somewhat, but they were good days. Walks into Northanger. Explorations around the old abbey ruins. More pancakes (it appears to be a thing with these Tilneys) and countless hours spent watching the food network. We talked more, as well. More than ever. She told me about the guy she likes. A physiotherapist at the hospital where she's based, called Ally. She told me that she didn't dare introduce him to her father, should he be scared off. She asked if there was anyone I was interested in. I made noncommittal sounds. She smirked and changed the subject.<p>

She told me about her job, and apologised, actually _apologised_, that she might have to run out on us occasionally.

"I work two or three nights a week on call," she said, "but there's always food in the freezer of some kind, even if it's just pasta sauce."

"I can cook," I said. "I want to. I'll take my share of the chores here."

She smiled slowly. "That's really kind of you, Cate," she said. "I'm not sure how Dad would feel…"

"I'm not a guest," I said firmly. "Put me to work."

"Well," she conceded, slowly, "maybe meals here and there? A bit of washing up? I wouldn't dare make anyone else do his washing or his ironing, even more. He's very…particular."

"OK," I said. "I'll steer clear of the washing, though I can do my own. But I really want to help out. With you working as hard as you clearly do, I couldn't possibly be sitting around at the end of the day, waiting for you to come home to cook me a meal."

Her smile was strained. "Funny. That's never stopped…" She stopped herself. "No. Sorry."

I paused and steered our conversation into less rocky ground. "So. How often do you get to deliver babies?"

She sighed. Then she smiled. "Pretty often. I cried the first time…"

The last night before I was due to start work, with the General out again, Eleanor and I drove to the nearest bit of west-facing coast we could find, parked in the tiny car park, and went and bought fish and chips. Then we sat on the beach, a little bit cold and sandy, and ate hot fish and chips and shared a pot of mushy peas and it was heaven.

"I have to admit," I said, between mouthfuls, "that this bit of sea is almost as perfect as it is in Barton."

"And this bit faces west. Full sun-set potential."

"Suck on that, Barton."

She snorted into her chips. She recovered, however, elegantly. "Cate?"

"Hmm?"

She paused over a chip. "I'm really grateful that you're here."

"Any time."

"No," she frowned. "No, I meant, _here_. At Northanger. Saving me from going mad."

I looked across.

"I mean," she continued, "Harry's not here terribly often, and I don't want him to give up all of his free days to spend with me, and likewise," she said, barely pausing for breath, "I don't want you to feel at all obliged to stick around at weekends or not go out in the evenings, but…" She collected herself. "I'm just glad to have someone else around. Thank you."

I looked at her. I weighed whether I knew her well enough for a good-old-fashioned-CSI-esque-cross-questioning. "Why?" I asked, weighing complete. "Why don't you move away?"

She shrugged. "There's no one else to look after Dad."

"He's not an invalid!" It sounded harsher than I intended. I winced. "Sorry, it's just…he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who wants to be…can I say mollycoddled without sounding mean?"

She laughed, resignedly. "You can," she breathed. "He does, though. It might not be slippers and nursery puddings and a nice P.G. Wodehouse before bed, but he is set in his ways. He's old fashioned. He doesn't see why he should have to cook and wash and clean."

"But you have your own life to live. What about work? What about Ally?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe one day."

I frowned, thinking. "My friend Ellis," I said, slowly, "is always yammering on about Dead Poets and Thoreau and how she should be taking the path less travelled and that the powerful play goes on, which is ironic, given how crappy her life has been last few years…" I took a breath. "What I mean is, Eleanor, you need to seize day."

A smile twitched. "You can call me Nell, you know," she said, looking a tiny bit teary.

"OK," I said. "Nell, seize the day. Make your life extraordinary."

"OK," she said back. "I'll think about it."

I rolled my eyes. "OK. Have a chip."

She smiled some more, and I felt wise beyond wise. Like an owl. And Gil Grissom. Combined. Boom.

* * *

><p>My wisdom plummeted to the level of a five year old within twelve hours. Typically. The General, having been conspicuously (and thankfully) absent for several days, appeared at the breakfast table, hale and hearty, with more tweed on than is necessary and a massive walking stick.<p>

"I hope you'll allow me to take you on a tour of the grounds this morning," he said, with barely any preamble. "It's a glorious morning, and autumn will turn in fast if we don't start work. Are you ready?"

"She hasn't had breakfast yet, Dad."

"And neither have I," he said with a steely look at his daughter. "What I meant, and blatantly was not clear enough for some, was to ask whether Catherine would be ready, _today,_ to see the grounds." He sat down at the head of the table. "Did you make a pot of tea or are you only drinking that gut-rotting coffee again?"

"There's a pot right here," I said, and put it within his reach. "Nell made some for me."

He flashed a shark-like smile. "Sensible girl. You don't drink coffee, eh?"

Even if I hadn't, I'm pretty sure, I would have lied right here. Thankfully for my deeply ingrained contrary nature (thank you, two brothers), and the state of all soul cleansing and karma, I did. And do. "No, I do. I just prefer tea first thing."

"Huhm."

Nell tried hard not to smile. And failed.

So here's the thing: I know that my dynamic with my parents is not altogether normal. We're friends. We really like each other. They weirdos, but they're nice weirdos. But knowing that not everyone has a sparkling Disney-movie-esque relationship with their parents (or at least theirs is more like the first hour of the movie, with the yelling and the unfeasible pranks, and the dogs who inexplicable bite crotches) I really try to not be all that judgemental about other people's relationships with their parents. Everyone's different. It takes all sorts. And though the General was strict, I was pretty sure that if his children faced up to him once in a while, he might actually respect them a bit more. So I didn't really have a problem with him. Aside from that weird thing about his wife and the attic. But still.

We strode out. Me, in wellies (nod of approval there), the General in a tweed factory explosion and brogues. He led the way to the centre of the lawn, our feet damp in the grass. "This," he said, grandly, "is where it all begins."

I thought about throwing up, suddenly. I decided to control myself.

"And," he said, strangely genial, "it's also where it all _began._" He gave me a significant look, as if I was supposed to say 'oh, yes, yes. Where the duke Olaf of Saxburgnothgum laid his sword and killed a dragon'. I smiled blithely.

"This is where the nuns of Northanger first stood as said 'we will build a house of worship. Here.'"

"Oh?" I nodded, helpfully.

He took a deep breath. "You can see why, I think."

I swallowed back the rising panic of nausea, looked down the valley and caught my breath. It was beautiful. The morning mist was fading in wisps over the upward blades of the old buildings. The tower, surprisingly intact, caught the full beam of the sun and glowed. A flock of collared doves rose and circled the buildings before settling again in the nearly unrecognisable tracery of the old windows, now just threads of stone, held together probably more by the birds themselves than anything else. A tendril of a breeze swirled, and the great trees between us and further down the valley to the ruins, lifted their branches like dancers. The rustled like skirts, and a few more birds took off, a pigeon, clattering into the sky.

"It's…" I said, feeling the General's eyes on me, and feeling like a response was necessary. "It's extraordinary. I can see why you love this place."

He smiled. "I'm glad that you can appreciate it." He drove his hands deeper into his pockets and blew out a walrus-breath. "I believe that you have already seen the maps of the estate? Henry sent them to you?"

"Yes. I have some idea of your lands here. Harry...uh…Henry said that the bulk of the forested areas is maintained by experts?"

"Yes, though as to 'expert' I wouldn't quite like to say. They approached me having taken over the woodlands in the Abbey grounds from those charlatans who run it. I wasn't terribly happy about it, but they appear to be doing a reasonable job, so one must not complain, eh?"

"No, of course."

"Though, of course, if you, in your line of work come across much more suitable people, you are most welcome to pass their names on to me."

"Thank you," I said, faintly.

"The woods are not a great concern of mine, nor are the areas of park-land. They are protected, so little can be changed, and I currently allow local tenant farmers to graze their sheep and cattle on it, so it need not factor into your planning."

"No," I said, feeling decidedly fended off.

"It's the bulk of the land. About thirty acres. I trust that you had not set your heart on designing the full forty-two acres?" He smiled again.

"No, never," I said, trying to forget the vague plans I had started to think about involving terraces and cascading pools.

"And of course there are already the walled and rose gardens." He fixed me with a look of steely determination. "I will, of course, consider all ideas submitted for the garden, but I would advise remembering, Miss Moreland, that it was particularly your sensitive renovation and thoughtful regeneration of gardens at Barton which primarily won you this most prestigious of jobs."

"Of course," I said, although honestly I was a little preoccupied thinking that a) I hadn't realised that he would want to sign off on every single idea, b) he really was determined to never, ever call me Cate, c) sensitive and thoughtful were not words that people who knew me often said, and d) I felt a little queasy at the pressure suddenly heaped on with the 'prestigious' job.

He made a sound in the back of his throat, squared his shoulders, and then tuned on his heel. "Come," he said. "We shall view the lands."

I think I might have squeaked, possibly said something like "oh, yes, lovely," mentally reproached myself for ever imagining that Harry or Cate could stand up to the General, and then scuttled after his tweedy retreating form.

* * *

><p>"So?" asked Nell, looking up from the carrots that she was chopping. "How was it?"<p>

I leaned back against the kitchen door and closed my eyes.

"That good. OK. Well the kettle's on…"

I sighed. "Bless you, Nell Tilney."

"Tea?"

"Mmm. Please."

"Here." She picked up the kettle, made her way towards the sink, and pulled out a chair from the table. "Sit down."

"I could help…" I said, except it might not have been terribly clear as I was yawning.

"Sit down," she said again. "You must have walked miles today and when you weren't walking you were, at least, in the presence of my father which I know is not exactly restful."

I sighed again. "Not exactly. He's nice, though. I like him."

She gave me a look. Her mouth quirked.

"I mean," I continued, "not like I _like him_ like him. Not like that…"

"Oh good, I was worried," she said mildly.

I leaned my head on my hand. "I mean he's perfectly good looking, but I'm, uh…"

"No, it's good to know. I had been wondering whether I should call you Cate, or Mummy Cate, or just straight out Mamma…"

I closed my eyes. "OK."

"…but this way's probably better because, you know, you'd have Rick as your step-son, and I'm definitely no picnic, and Harry…well. You know."

"I'm really not sure if I'm following this conversation. At all."

The kettle whistled. It sounded glorious.

"Tea in the pot or tea in a mug? Or a cup, I suppose, but that seems unlikely."

"I don't mind," I said, eyes still closed, head still resting on hand.

She walked around the kitchen, a few noises of china and the fridge opening, a splash of water into the pot, a glug of milk into mugs and the glorious gurgle of tea. "Here," she said, and there was a clonk on the table by my elbow.

"Oh, bless you a thousand times more," I said, opening my eyes to find a big red mug of tea. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." She went back to chopping carrots.

I sat up a little more, and wrapped my hands around the mug. "Can I help at all?"

She pushed the mound of chopped carrots aside with her knife and then picked up her tea. "No," she said. "It's fine, thank you."

"I'm quite good at chopping," I said. "Brandon let me in to his sous-chef secrets."

She gave me a look. "Are any of those secrets how not to chop your own fingers off when you're so exhausted that you can't see straight?"

"Uh…"

"Then no. Thank you."

"OK."

She chopped for a few minutes more, and then threw it all into a big frying pan. She stirred it all up, and then turned back. "So how was your first day? Really. Was he a nightmare?"

"Who? Your Dad? He was fine. I mean, intimidating, a little alarming…"

"Naturally."

"He gave me a seemingly exhaustive tour of the estate and we made it right down to the river, at which point he challenged me to lead him back again and thus demonstrate how much I had been paying attention and how much I had studied the maps that Harry had sent on."

"How did it go?"

I took a scalding gulp of tea. "Turns out that the maps were pretty old and that your father's tour was not exhaustive."

"You got lost?"

"Just twice."

She smiled warily. "How was he?"

"Fine. Gracious, really."

She smiled again.

"I got stuck on an island."

She smiled some more. "Which one?"

"There's more than one?"

"Three in total, but the third you'd have to be pretty stupid to not notice."

I sighed into my tea-steam, and then, finally, remembered. "On the lake."

"Right."

I yawned. "I was down by the river."

"You went across by the dead horse-chestnut?"

"Yes!"

"Easy to do." She smiled again then turned back to stir some more. "Especially this time of year. The stream is pretty low."

"That's what your Dad said." I sighed again. "This place is amazing, though. Really."

"We forget," she said, looking a little rueful, "far too easily. It's lovely and we're incredibly lucky."

I swallowed. "I didn't mean to…you shouldn't feel guilty for wanting, I don't know…"

"…more?"

"Maybe." I sighed once more. "Sorry, I'm interfering. I just…I don't think that you should have to put up with less just because of the hand you dealt. I mean, if your Mum hadn't died or if Rick was married and living here or if your father was…"

"Not my father?"

"Right. Things would be different."

She smiled. "But they aren't. My father is my father and that's what I got."

I churned. "It sucks."

"Yep."

"There's nothing I can do?"

"Nope."

"Well I'll stir that for you, at the very least."

"Cate, it's fine."

I got up, tea still in hand. "It's burning."

"Oh, is it?" She moved out of the way, looking a little defeated as I scraped around the sides of the pan. "Thank you."

"Don't you dare. Just I said, it's the very least."

She smiled. "OK."

* * *

><p>My mother is the human equivalent of Marmite. Deeply comforting to those who love her. Baffling to all else.<p>

"_Are you remembering your manners, darling?"_

"As opposed to not? Looking in the sandwiches and barging people out of the way on the way to the bathroom?"

"_You did exactly that when you were six."_

"Mum."

"_OK. Well, it's just that Brandon mentioned that you might be going a little bit odd and I wondered…"_

"Mum! I'm fine. I had a moment. It was all very _Beauty and the Beast. _I was seeing wilting roses and magic mirrors everywhere, but it's fine. I'm fine."

"_Really?"_

"Yes."

"_You're not turning into that poor man in that film with Chaucer and his wife?"_

"A Beautiful Mind?"

"_Yes."_

"You're lucky that I speak your language otherwise this conversation would have ground to a halt."

"_Very likely. You're coming home again soon?"_

"Yes, probably, though I think that Nell is really appreciating having someone else here."

"_Why? Is her father so very bad? Dickensian? Tomb-faced and stern-of-jaw?"_

"No mother, not particularly, but they're just not friends."

"_Oh, how miserable."_

"I know."

"_She's lonely."_

"Yeah."

"_How rotten. Poor girl. Well, any time that you'd like to bring her home too…"_

"I'll give her a few months of prep, but sure. Thank you."

"_Prep? Are we so very bad?"_

"Just not normal."

"_How very dull that would be."_

"I know."

"_Well sweetheart, the jam is getting to that stage where I'm probably about to ruin it, so I should probably go. You're sure that you're all right?"_

"Perfectly all right. Go back to your jam."

"_OK then darling. We love you very much."_

"And I, you. Talk to you soon."

* * *

><p><strong>All that is Austen is not mine. Thank you again.<br>FP**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

After only four weeks, the boathouse had a delightfully welcome glow to it, especially as the weather had turned colder, and I had not come home for the weekend with very suitable clothes.

"Hey."

Brandon looked up and, for once, grinned. "Hey yourself." He walked round the counter and gave me a hug. A good one. "How're you doing? I mean, I haven't had any crazy phone calls recently, so I thought…"

"I'm fine. I'm OK."

"Just OK?"

I sat down at the counter. "What do you want, a parade? Some kind of clown? Balloons?"

"You've been watching '_The Greatest Show on Earth'_ again?"

I winced. "Well, yes, but that's beside the point. Except Jimmy Stewart really could cure me of my slight but very rational fear of clowns if I watched that enough. Plus, I've got to say, every time I watch it, all the guys get hotter. Specially Sebastien…"

"Oh boy…" He turned away to the coffee machine.

"So how about you? How have you been?"

"Yeah. OK."

I gave him a long and appraising look. "Really?"

He turned and sighed noisily as if I was the biggest trial that anyone had ever faced. Then he gave me a look. "I will be."

It sounded all rather portentous. "You _will be? _What are you going to do? Kill Marc?"

"Would you…?" he spluttered, looking wildly at the handful of people in the room, placidly munching on french toast and pancakes. "I've done reasonably well for the last while," he said, low and dangerous in tone, "in not telling _everyone_ my personal business which, by the way, is no one's business but _mine._"

Wow. "OK," I said, soothingly. "Who let you start drink triple caffeine shots? Own up."

He sighed again.

"No one was listening. No one gives a damn about us. It's too early, for one thing. They'd all be terrible spies."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah? Or really good ones."

"That's a…" Good grief. "That's a thought that's going to fester."

"Yep."

"You know what I'm like. Now I'm going to suspect everyone. _Everyone_. I won't be able to trust anyone. At. All."

"Good." He turned away to flip pancakes.

"What do you mean?"

He turned back, leaning next to the cooker. "People are…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. I just don't trust people like I used to, I suppose."

"Has something happened?" My spidey senses were tingling. Brandon didn't normally look this defeated. Or disappointed. Not while cooking, anyway.

He gave me a look. "No. No, nothing. Nothing at all."

* * *

><p>"CATE!"<p>

Maggie Dashwood bounded into the boathouse.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were off having adventures."

Brandon smiled, properly as well. It did wonders for his tired face.

"Not really adventures. I'm working. Designing and sorting out a garden. About three hours north of here."

Nancy trailed in after her. "Anything's better than here."

"Really?"

Maggie sat down next to me and leaned in, confidentially. "We had the boat confiscated."

"What did you two possibly do?"

"Nothing," said Nancy, sitting down on Maggie's other side.

"Nothing?" Brandon raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing so very bad," said Nancy. "We just tried to rescue a baby guillemot who was abandoned. And alone. And would have died had it not been for us."

Brandon leaned on the counter. "And what time was this?"

"The best time for the tide," Nancy shot back, belligerently.

"It was midnight," confided Maggie.

"Midnight? You went out rowing at midnight?"

"It was the best time for the tide!" repeated Nancy. "Honestly. You'd think we had murdered someone. Or stolen things. Or run off leaving people miserable all over the place."

Brandon raised an eyebrow again. There was a somewhat pregnant pause.

"Nancy…"

"What? No one confiscated _his_ boat."

"Who?" asked Maggie.

"I'd have sunk it if he had one," murmured Brandon, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Brandon…"

"Are you guys talking about Marc?" asked Maggie.

I gave Brandon a look. It was of the stern variety.

"Not in so many words, Mags. Don't worry."

She shrugged. "He's a duffer. John Walker would never have pulled this kind of nonsense."

"John Walker?" I asked.

"Yes," put in Nancy, decidedly. "He certainly wouldn't have left Mari like that. He would have sat her down and told her what was happening and probably drawn her a map."

"And not left her so miserable anyway," put in Maggie.

I frowned. "Is she alright?"

Maggie shrugged. "No one tells me anything. I don't know. I hope so." She looked up at Brandon. "Right?"

He nodded. "Right."

Nancy stood up. "Come on Mad Mag. We've spent enough time with these land-lubbers."

Maggie smiled. "See you again soon, Cate."

"Absolutely."

* * *

><p>Brandon was assiduously cleaning things which were, pretty obviously, already clean.<p>

"What was that all about?"

He decidedly did not meet my eye. "Oh you know," he said. "Nancy."

"What's going on with Mari?"

He cleared his throat. "You've had breakfast? Want any?"

"Pancakes, please. Now, Mari?"

"Cate…"

"I've been away for four weeks. I've heard nothing at all apart from commonplace news from Ellis which is probably all lies, knowing her."

He smirked.

"Well it is!"

"I know." He handed me a cup of coffee (at last) and then turned back to the pancakes.

"So…?"

"There's nothing to tell," he said, his back towards me.

"Right…"

"No, I mean," he paused and turned back to me. "There is nothing. There has been nothing. Mari has heard _nothing_."

I grimaced. "How long has it been?"

"Three months."

"Man." I slumped. "Marc really is a duffer."

He made a non-committal sort of sound. I suspect that it was to guard from swearing.

"How is she?"

"I'm not a girl, Cate. I don't really get the whole I'm-fine-I'm-not-actually-fine mind reading thing."

Right. "You know her really well," I said, carefully. "Better than most."

He eyed me. I think he was on to my ass-kissing.

"You know how she is."

He shrugged.

"So spill."

He sighed, blowing out a breath like a whale. "I don't know. Waiting for a guy who may never come home, and trying to weigh up whether he has been lying to her or just is a moron. Or something more sinister but less, you know, his fault."

"Fatal disease?"

"I'll give him a fatal disease…"

"Would you just…"

* * *

><p>"Hey!"<p>

Mari and Ellis walked in, effectively busting up our conversation.

"When did you get home?"

I smiled at them, genuinely happy to see them. "Last night. Harry drove me to the station and then I had almost three more hours travelling."

"We're totally worth it though, right?" said Mari, slumping onto the stool next to me. "B, have you got tea?"

"Tons," he said, with a small smile. He picked up an empty teapot and brandished it at Ellis. "What are you having?"

"Coffee. Quadruple shot."

He paused, an eyebrow raised. "One."

"Triple."

He leaned on the counter. "You want to kill yourself?"

She rubbed her hands over her face and cricked her neck. "I'm trying to revive myself."

He pursed his lips. "Two."

She frowned, then sighed. "Deal."

"You two should just put us all out of our misery and get married," grumbled Mari.

"It would be like Sooty marrying Soo," said Ellis. "Too weird."

"I always thought that Sweep and Soo had a thing going on."

I balked. For many reasons. "You did not."

Brandon smirked. "Sure I did. Him or Scampi. There was something about Scampi."

"He was a tiny lothario," put in Mari.

"Right?"

"Totally."

"This is so weird," I said. "Four weeks away and no one has been discussing the sexual antics of Sooty and Company."

Mari received her tea from Brandon gratefully with a smile. "Thank you," she said, and then turned on me. "What have you been discussing then? The finer things in life? Wine? Horses? Classical poetry and opera and silent films? Come on, you can tell us. Does Harry have tassels on his loafers?"

"Is that a euphemism?"

Mari choked on her tea.

"No," I said, "and what's more, I barely ever see Harry."

"Riiiight."

"I don't! Honestly."

"I thought he drove you to the station," said Ellis, helpfully.

"Right, but it's only the second time that he's been back at all since I first arrived."

"And he gallantly gave you a lift to the station."

I raised an eyebrow at Mari. "Don't get too excited. He was an insufferable ass last time I saw him."

"What?"

"Yeah," I said, not a little bitterly, remembering our conversation. "He gave me a little lecture on the moral decay caused by all of my favourite programmes."

"_Diagnosis Murder_ causes moral decay?" asked Brandon, passing me a plate of pancakes.

"Apparently," I said, caustically, "and thank you."

Ellis yawned into her nuclear-strength coffee. "I've never seen _Diagnosis Murder_," she said. "Is it one of the ones when a stripper makes out with a stripper and then they both get shot in the head?"

Brandon snorted. "Not exactly."

"He sounds like a preachy, judgemental, what was it you called him?"

"An insufferable ass?" said Brandon, helpfully.

"Yeah," continued Mari. "Well he does."

I sighed. "He's not really. Probably. I mean, he wasn't really talking about _DM._ More _CSI. CSI: New York, Law and Order, Law and Order: SVU, NCIS, NCIS:LA…"_

"M.O.U.S.E."

I smiled at Brandon's back, and sighed. "Right. Well. I mean, he probably has a point…"

"Don't be that girl, Cate," Brandon shot over his shoulder.

"What girl?"

"The kind that lets guys treat them like they're not there," said Ellis.

"The kind that lets guys make them feel completely devalued and disregarded," said Mari.

Brandon turned around, eyebrows raised. We shared a look. Wowzers.

"OK," I said. "I'll be, uh, careful I suppose." I grimaced at Brandon.

"From what I saw," he said, slowly, "he wasn't a _complete_ ass, right Cate?"

"Right," I said, feeling like part of a self-help double act. "He's a really nice guy. He just feels quite passionately about media's influence and the corporate poisoning of imaginations and, you know… He's your typical do-gooder," I trailed off.

Mari was staring into her mug of tea, Ellis far off out of the window. Brandon shrugged at me. I raised my eyebrows at him then, with the silence crushing mouthed 'say something' at him.

"Well," he started in desperate tones, "at least he's better than his brother."

"Yeah." Wait. "Hang on…what?"

"Ugh," said Mari. "That guy…"

"Rick?" I asked. "Rick Tilney? Has he been around since I left?"

"All the ruddy time," said Mari. "He lives in Plymouth but you wouldn't know it."

Ellis sighed and emerged from her coffee cup. "That's not quite fair," she said. "He hasn't really been around much these last few weeks."

"Yeah," said Mari, "and neither has Izzy. What a shocking coincidence," she deadpanned.

"Rick and Izzy?"

"Be fair," said Ellis. "In _public_ nothing has particularly been said or done."

"Or groped."

"Ugh." Brandon grimaced.

"You think that they're at it in private?"

Mari made a face. Brandon grimaced some more.

"We don't know," said Ellis. "There has just been some serious flirting going on and she is, you know, _her_, and he appears to be some kind of lothario."

"Just like Scampi," said Mari.

How did I miss all this? Just as things get interesting at home and I move? Typical. "But what about Jim?" I asked. "He'll be heartbroken."

"Yep," said Brandon, finally stopping messing around with pots and pans and milk jugs, and leaning back against the counter top. "Just as soon as he notices."

"He doesn't know?"

"Nope," said Brandon. "Or if he does he's hiding it well."

"There isn't necessarily anything _to_ know," put in Ellis.

Mari snorted. "With _him_? OK…"

"Harry said that it's not in character with Rick," I said, slowly. "He said that he used to be totally different. Maybe he's going through some kind of late twenties crisis."

"He's in his late twenties?" asked Ellis, incredulous. "He looks like mid-thirties."

"You mean young and vital?" put in Brandon, grinning, for once.

"Sure, old man. Sure."

* * *

><p>Ellis didn't stay long. She stayed for another two cups of coffee (drunk superfast) and cinnamon toast and then she disappeared with her mobile clamped to her ear and a harried expression.<p>

"She all right?" I asked Mari.

She shrugged over her cup of tea. "Who knows?" she said. "She doesn't tell anyone anything, and firmly believes that she can run all of our lives for us and that we'll all do better that way."

"For a change," murmured Brandon, wiping down counter-tops.

"Right. She's just as much of a closed-book-megalomaniac as she ever was."

"Oh," I said, faintly. "Good."

Mari grinned. "She's fine. Nutty, but fine."

"Good."

"And you? How is it really?"

"I told you."

"You told us what an insufferable ass that guy can be, which, by the way, I suspect you like."

"I like being lectured to? At?"

"Maybe," she said. "You might have a Captain Von Trapp thing going on."

"I do like whistles, marching and sailor blouses…"

Mari shrugged. "Hot bossy guys who secretly pine for nice girls."

"That's ridiculous."

"But he is hot."

Brandon groaned.

"Yes?" Mari smiled blithely at him.

"Don't mind me. I'm just going to go and hang out in the stock room for a while."

"All right then." She turned back to me. "So?"

"What? You just told me not to get involved with a guy who'll devalue me or something. What did you say?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I certainly wasn't listening."

"Mari…"

She gave me a look. "You like him. He's cute. He seems to like you which shows that he's a reasonable judge of character. He has an opinion on things, which is more than can be said for certain of his friends. He's trying to make the world better which is more than can be said for most people. What are you waiting for?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ask him out!"

"No!"

"Cate!"

"What? I'm an old-fashioned girl."

"Who likes dinosaurs and car chases."

"I like romance. I want the whole package of epic gestures and yearning and candlelight and…"

"Are you serious?"

"What?"

"Cate," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "you don't want to be in love. You want to be in fictional love."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Yes, you do."

"I really…"

* * *

><p>"Cate?"<p>

I whipped around to find myself face-to-face with Izzy. "Hi!"

I half expected a diatribe on how I should have told her I was coming back because, really, then she could have planned our whole weekend. Except she seemed a little detached. "Hi," she said.

"How are you doing? I haven't seen you for ages."

"Oh fine," she said, and, glancing at Mari, smiled a little vaguely. "I'm meeting Jamie here."

I nodded, sagely. "He mentioned something about that this morning."

She shrugged as if baffled that I had spoken to Jim over the toaster, though, having met her siblings and parents, it wouldn't have been a shock to discover that they all have breakfast on individual silver salvers.

"You know Mari?"

"Um, no." She flashed a brief smile at Mari, and held out a hand. "Isabella Ferrars. I'm engaged to Cate's brother, Jamie?"

Mari stared at her, blankly. "We've met about a dozen times."

Izzy shrugged. "Oh, well, Jamie has so many friends, I lose count!" She sat down at a bar stool, fished out her phone and started tapping away at it. Mari, never the closed book, raised her eyebrows as Izzy entirely ignored us.

"So, uh, Mari, you were saying…" I began, except then, unfortunately, I remembered what she had been saying. I winced.

"What, about Rick Tilney?" she replied in wide-eyed innocence.

"I…uh…"

She smiled blithely. "That is what we were talking about, right? Or was it Harry…"

"I don't…" I did remember. It wasn't Rick Tilney. Damn it. "It doesn't really matter. We can talk about something else."

"Right," said Mari, "because it would be unfair to talk about Rick when Isabella doesn't even know him, right?"

I was incredibly grateful that Izzy had sat on my other side. It meant that I could grimace at Mari without her noticing. "Right," I said, slowly.

"Don't worry about me," said Izzy, without looking up from her phone.

"No, no," said Mari, then, with a pointed look at Izzy's phone, "that would be unforgivably rude. My mother brought me up better than that."

'_STOP IT,' _I mouthed at Mari.

She grinned, eyes wide, then mouthed back, '_MAKE ME'. _"Unless of course," she launched, "you already know him. You don't, do you?"

Izzy glanced up. "Uh, no. A little."

"Which one?"

I tried to kick Mari subtly. I nearly fell off the bar stool.

"I've met him a few times," Izzy continued, looking back at her phone, blissfully unaware that she was witnessing what I hoped would be Mari's last words. I had after-all, watched one heck of a lot of _CSI_. The perfect crime was a mere ice-block on a beach away. "At Cate's going away party," she said.

"Really?" asked Mari. "I was there too. Was introduced to you there for the second time."

Izzy finally put her phone down. Her face unaccountably hardened. "Right. Hadn't you just been dumped?"

Brandon walked back in, looked up at Izzy's comment and skidded to a halt when he saw Mari's face. Really, it would have been hilarious if I didn't think that Mari was about to go full on Velociraptor on Izzy.

"I think that was what someone told me. Cate, wasn't it you?"

"Uh…" ABORT. ABORT. I gave Brandon the crazy eyes. I hoped he understood that I was telling him where my will was.

Instead, "Mari," he said with an easy and bafflingly insouciant tone. "Isn't the bookshop due to be open in five minutes?"

Mari didn't move.

"Here, take a Danish."

She finally looked up at him. I suspect that both of us nearly swallowed our tongues when then, Brandon smiled. Not just his normal twitch, or the smirk that he reserves for those he thinks are loons and sisters, but a full on mega-watt smile. She stood up.

"Right," she said. "Thanks. Cate, I'll uh…see you later."

"Sure. Oh, Jim!"

* * *

><p>The boy in question walked in, blissfully unaware that he had just stepped into the Thunderdome. "Hey." He stooped to kiss Izzy who returned what I suspect was intended to be a peck with a full on face-eating smacker.<p>

"Oh, I'm not going to be eating for a week," murmured Brandon.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing."

Jim dropped to the barstool next to his fiancée. "You guys have been catching up?"

"Yeah," said Izzy, leaning in to him. "Just like old times."

"Just need Rob to make the set!"

Oh, please no. "Is he around?" Please, please no.

"You want another go at that? Double wedding?" I don't know if it had been Mari's frankly hostile company before, or whether it was now the presence of Jim, but Izzy had totally turned it on. You'd think that the last few minutes had never happened. "You want to come dress shopping with me?"

"Uh, sure," I said. "I mean, not for me. Not right now. I'm not foreseeing a double wedding."

"You think you've missed your chance with Robbie?"

"Maybe, but I meant more that I'm not sure that we were ideally, you know, suited."

"Compatible?" she asked.

"Exactly."

Brandon smirked.

"What about the other guy? Harry something?"

"Yeah?"

"You want to marry him?"

"Yeah Cate," said Jim. "You want to marry him?" His smile was insufferable.

"OK, uh…let's just…marriage? I don't…you know. It's a bit early."

"We didn't need long," said Izzy, snuggling into Jim's side in such saccharine fashion that Brandon grimaced.

"Well, yeah, but you guys are…special."

Brandon snorted, then tried to cover it by coughing.

"You all right there?" Jim asked, firing a pointed look at Brandon.

"Peachy," he wheezed.

Izzy leaned in. "I get it. You need more time. But, I mean, you have slept with him, right?"

"Oh my word." Brandon picked up the box of erroneous ingredients he had randomly picked from the stock room. "I'll just go and put these away."

"Cate?"

Jim was enjoying this entirely too much. "Uh, no," I said. "Not so much. Honestly, Izzy, I've barely seen him, and anyway, you know, that would be a bit weird. He's training to be a vicar. I'm…me."

"You're going to wait until you're married? That's so cute!"

"Really?"

"Adorable. I mean, we haven't yet, but that's because of work and stuff, and Jamie's so cute and takes this all really seriously."

"Does he?" I said, weakly. There is no way that I need to know what my brother is doing with his equipment.

She turned to him and stroked his face. "Maybe we should wait, baby. It could be really sexy."

His frown had less to do, probably, with subject matter than the fact that his sister was two foot away. "Maybe we could talk about this another time?"

I smiled at him. His pain was totally worth my embarrassment. "Don't worry on my account."

She turned the full-wattage of her perfect model face on him. "What do you say?" she said. "Am I worth waiting for?"

He appeared to be briefly speechless. Or winded. Or maybe having a heart attack. Then, "of course." He leaned in and kissed her, this time, briefly. Thankfully. "Right," he said, and stood up. "We've got to go."

"OK," she chirped and leaped to follow him. "Cate, I hope it works out with your sexy vicar."

"Thank you."

She smiled. "And if it doesn't, I'll tell Robbie that you're available."

"Oh?"

"He's looking good these days," she said. "Got in shape. Got a haircut. Looking more like the guy in _One Tree Hill _than in _Wimbledon, _you know?"

Sadly, I did.

* * *

><p>Honestly, it was quite a relief to go back to Northanger. At least people there weren't totally insane. Or if they were, they hid it a lot better.<p>

* * *

><p>Nell picked me up from the station. It was only at the front door, however, that she remembered that she had forgotten the key ingredient for dinner.<p>

"Could we make something else?"

She pulled a face. "Not when Dad has specifically…" She grimaced. "It's fine. I'll go back. Could you put the kettle on?"

* * *

><p>I let myself into the house and paused for a second, trying to decide whether the stillness, so completely unlike my own house back home, was welcoming, or a little bit lonely. Then the stillness was broken. Piano music seeped through the walls, delicate and somehow woody. Phrases moved and carried on, crossing like streams and coming to pauses. The General had to be in the Drawing Room, enjoying a late Sunday afternoon music-fest. On vinyl, probably. I put my bags down carefully, then crept around the kitchen, filling the kettle and putting it down as quietly as possible on the Aga. Then, noticing that the reason I could hear so clearly was that all the doors were open (hello, howling draughts), I snuck through to the hall to close the door to the kitchen. Except, of course, at that point something happened. The music stopped. Not in a someone-has-turned-it-off kind of way, but more in a frustrated-I-can't-play-this fashion. That, and there was a groan. And it wasn't the General. The music started again, and, emboldened, I crept across the hall. Through the door to the Drawing Room I could see the grand piano sitting in the bay window, and, in-turn, sitting at the piano, was Harry. Wearing glasses. Playing. The piano. Beautifully. Because it couldn't possibly be that the guy could only play <em>chopsticks<em> and do it out of time. No. So I stood there. Like a crazy stalker. And watched him play for I don't know how long. Except the crazy stalkerishness of it all ended rather unceremoniously when Nell yelled, "I'm back! It's a good thing I didn't meet anyone or I probably would have run them down!"

"Good to know!" yelled Harry, who turned, mid-sentence, and nearly fell off his piano stool. "Uh, hi."

"Hello."

"How long have you been standing there?"

"A while."

He frowned, baffled. "Any particular reason?"

I winced. "I was…uh…you know…stunned by your ability to play, I don't know, like some kind of recording which is, by the way, what I thought you were when I first got here."

He smiled a little. "You're just being nice. I was playing like some kind of ham-fisted gorilla."

"Are you being serious?" I walked into the room. Now I think about it, I wasn't exactly invited. "You play beautifully. Not that I'm exactly surprised. I mean, you guys are so effortlessly classy and refined. Why should I be surprised that you can play Mozart?"

He smiled a little more.

"It wasn't Mozart was it?"

He grinned. "I wasn't going to say anything." He shifted up the piano stool. "Come on. I need someone to turn the pages for me."

"Which one?"

He raised an eyebrow. "All of them?"

I gave him a look. "Which _Bach_?"

He tried not to smile. "J.S."

"Well done at hiding your look of shock and awe that I knew a single scrap about classical music."

"I wasn't surprised."

I paused. "Oh, and it wasn't classical either, was it?"

He smiled.

"Damn."

"Come and sit down. Whichever Bach it is, I still can't play this."

I sat next to him.

"You read music?"

"I played the clarinet for a year. I can just about managed if the notes are so massive that they have their letter written inside the dots, and preferably are creating a piece of music about going up and down the stairs. Or going to Grandma's. Or a friendly spider."

He smiled. Then he started to play, slower than before. His hand occasionally brushed mine, in between a low "now" every now and then. I just about managed. At least, I didn't rip a page out. And it didn't end up sounding like some modern composition made of rubbish and dead cats. The final trill slipped into a final chord.

* * *

><p>His hands rested for a second, pausing, and then he turned to me. "Thanks."<p>

"Anytime."

He smiled. "I didn't realise that you were getting back today."

"I didn't realise that you'd be here at all."

He nodded slowly, looking down at the keys, and then he turned again. "I think that I might have been an incredibly self-righteous moron last time I saw you."

"What?"

"Yep. No, I'm pretty sure I was. Over the crime scene TV shows and all those other things? You remember?"

I affected a look of vaguely remembering something. "Oh? I'm sure it wasn't a big deal."

"It was." He sighed. "I had no right. I'm sorry."

All I could hear was myself, on replay, calling him an insufferable ass. "It's OK."

He sighed again, and leaned one elbow on the piano, turning to face me. "Thing is, I worked with a bunch of teenage boys a while back, and it was a real issue for them. They were so incredibly desensitized over death and rape and all kinds of horrific things, and I just…I think it became a bit of a crusade for me."

"It really is all right."

"I have several other crusades."

"OK."

"And I'm horribly opinionated about a lot of things."

It almost sounded like…some kind of dating resume? Surely not. "You really don't have to apologise." I tried to sound classy. Like wine and cheese and grand pianos.

He smiled again. Then, "you don't really think that we're somehow classier or more refined, do you? Not really?"

I had a nasty moment where I wondered if he could actually read my mind, and then decided that that probably wasn't on the cards. So I gave him a look instead. "You live in an abbey. You play classical music on a grand piano as if that's what everyone does, every day. You went to boarding school. You have forty-two acres of land including a lake. Stop me if I'm getting anything wrong here."

"But it doesn't mean anything. We have a big house and a big garden. My father moved a lot in the army, so they put us in boarding school, where, by the way, I learned to play the piano. And I was happy, I suppose, but…you know, I'd be a selfish moron to not be grateful for every extraordinary opportunity that was handed to me, but I'll bet you anything that you and your family are ten times happier than we are, no matter how many refinements of good society we have here. Honestly, Catie." He sighed. Silence hovered.

"Well," I said, slowly, "there may be an opening in my family as I can't go back given that you have now hooked me on _University Challenge_."

A smile twitched. "Really?"

"Where else would I have learned about J.S. Bach and all his fancy b…b…BAROQUE! HA!…baroque music?"

He smiled. "Wikipedia?"

"Yeah…I'm getting obsessed with that as well. Nell had me on there for an hour last week looking up the mimic octopus. Seriously."

"And now you can't go back?"

I shrugged. "You were there. Mari said that if I got into quizzing that I was to just stay here."

"So you'll have to stay, then."

"Looks like it."

He smiled again. "OK then."

* * *

><p>He made us pancakes for breakfast. Really good ones. And then he holed up in the kitchen with Nell and did Christmas cooking all day while I slaved over garden plans which were, finally, getting there. It wasn't until after dark, post stew and dumplings and mince pies, that he threw his belongings into his car.<p>

"So I'm free next weekend," he said, leaning against the Aga and downing a final cup of tea. "I've got Sunday off, so I'll be around to, I don't know, make the Christmas Pudding, or replace all the mince pies that you've eaten…"

He grinned at me. I pulled a face at him.

Nell emerged from where she had been packing mince pies into the freezer. "Harry, I'm on long night shifts for the rest of the week. I'm going to be dead on my feet by the weekend."

"You'd rather I wasn't here?"

She shrugged and picked up her own cup of tea. "I don't mind, but you know how I am when I'm tired."

"A sheer delight?" I suggested.

Harry snorted. "Not so much."

"Anyway, you don't have to come down here every time that you've got a free weekend. You've got friends there, and stuff to do, and a life outside of this house." She paused, shrugged again, and then turned back to the fridge. "Anyway…" she trailed off.

Harry watched her for a second, then caught my eye. Slowly, he smiled, ruefully. "OK," he said. "Well I'm on my mobile, so if you need anything…"

Nell slammed the fridge door and smiled, finally. "I know. Have a good week."

"You too. Deliver some nice babies."

"Not the nasty ones?" I asked, helpfully.

He pulled a face at me before hugging Nell. "See you soon," he said, and then he was gone.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, it was pretty merciful that the house was devoid of Tilneys for the next week. The General had emailed to let me know that he'd be back at the weekend and was hoping (oh, wait, expecting. What a charmer.) to see garden plans. With nothing but Radio 4 for company and mini battenburgs for sustenance, I got my head down and got it done. And I'll have to admit; I was super proud of both a) my plans, and b) my organisation. I did well enough to finish before breakfast on Friday (doesn't everyone work in pyjamas?) which gave me enough time to eat a languorous breakfast, drinking coffee and listening to a couple of Harry's sermons that had been put up online. Which was, in itself merciful, that I had a spiritually calming boost before…well, what was basically a massive fiasco. Or Friday evening, as it's otherwise known.<p> 


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